


Night Exhibition

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Human, Autistic Castiel, Baker Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Come Swallowing, Demisexual Castiel, Everyone Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fetish, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Horny Dean, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Museums, No Angst, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Professionals Being Unprofessional, Public Nudity, Rimming, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Secret Crush, Security Guard Castiel, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Standing Up, Sexual Tension, Snarky Castiel, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Uniform Kink, nonbinary Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 03:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11050272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Welcome to the world's most generic museum. In the café, you'll find Dean, putting dinosaur cut-outs on his award-winning apple pies. In the gift shop, you'll find his snarky yet devastatingly handsome friend Castiel, folding t-shirts for a living. But Castiel has a second job as a night watchman, patrolling the marble halls and protecting the museum exhibits after dark. One night, Dean asks to tag along. He could never resist a crisp blue uniform, and he'll take any opportunity to have his friend show it off. It might take all night, one dance, and a playful sex act (or five) in a few unusual places around the museum before either of them realise... maybe Dean's interest was never about the uniform. And maybe their friendship was already something else.





	Night Exhibition

**Author's Note:**

> My heartfelt thanks to [mittensmorgul](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/) and [selfihateyouithink](http://selfihateyouithink.tumblr.com/) for betaing this at short notice! Credit for the ridiculous dad jokes goes to [envydean](http://envydean.tumblr.com/) and [risencas](http://risencas.tumblr.com/). ♥
> 
> A fact about this story: I concocted this entire thing as an excuse to write a particular sex position. You'll know it when you read it.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Unprotected oral sex. Past Dean/women. (No past Cas/other). Check the tag box above for other warnings!

Dean flipped the end of his pencil, sending it tumbling eraser-over-nib in an arc to his workbench. “All right! That’s it for me! Winchester out.” He yanked his apron over his head, mussing his gelled hair. “Benny – break a leg, man,” he called, smiling to his soup-stirring pal, who waved over his shoulder without looking.

Dean tossed his apron over Benny’s arm and clapped him on the back. “Let me know when the tickets are up for grabs. Wanna be there opening night.”

“Will do, brother,” Benny said, as Dean snuck past, heading for the glass-fronted refrigerator. “Pie’s on the top shelf.”

“Yep.” Dean bit the skin under his lower lip, concentrating as he slid two plastic containers off the top shelf of the fridge, balancing them both under his chin as he booted the door shut behind him. “‘Night, Benny.”

Dean exited the museum’s steel-surfaced kitchen to the tune of _In The Hall of the Mountain King_ , a melodious whistle escaping Benny’s puckered lips. As always, Dean left with a smile.

Most of the world’s star bakers tended towards competing in cooking shows, or taking jobs in actual bakeries, or running fancy five-star restaurants. Dean Winchester (three-time winner of various best-selling food magazines’ ‘Best Dessert’ awards, not to _brag_ or anything) tended towards sticking wherever his friends were.

All Dean’s awards were credited to the museum café, not specifying him by name. He was okay with that.

At the Museum of American Artifacts, Dean felt like he could work at his peak as part of a team, without putting excessive strain on his pie-making to be his defining skill. He liked when his critics were his customers, who had an appetite for history and classic Americana, not outsiders who compared his pies to something they ate in France, once. Benny and Dean worked in tandem, back-to-back, and that was where Dean was happy.

The museum café had no doors; Dean walked straight out from attractive yellow lighting into the main atrium of the museum. Gargantuan glass frames in the entranceway let the evening sunlight wash up across a hundred feet of red marble, and Dean felt the sun warming his right cheek as he made his way towards the gift shop.

Museum guides were finishing up their final tours, and Dean smirked as he overheard young Alicia Banes projecting her voice to say, “And that’s why we take _pride_ in this museum and all its collective history. We staff members call it the world’s most generic museum—” the group around her chuckled, “—but what’s better than a place where _everything_ is special? Every artifact and staff member here is part of the American Artifact family. You can be too, if you sign up as a returning member—”

Dean wandered out of earshot, dodging a gaggle of overexcited middle-school kids with matching badges that read ‘ _I’m with my teacher!_ ’

A janitor in a grey boilersuit wheeled his mop and bucket in front of Dean, and Dean gave him a what’s-up nod before ducking past and setting foot on the carpet of the gift shop. The floor underneath gave a tiny bit, triggering a _blaarp_ noise at the back of the store.

“We’re closing, better make it quick,” called a chirpy voice. “We’re open again tomorrow at nine o’clo— Oh, it’s you.” Castiel said, going back to looking tired. He slumped forward over the desk, yawning widely.

“Triceratops, times one,” Dean said, sliding the first pie container onto the wooden desk, “Aaaand – dammit, cherry brontosaurus. I wanted an apple T-rex, I spent ages putting feathers on it.”

Castiel hmph’d, downturned eyes crinkling with amusement. “At least they sell well.”

“Yeah, they look like they just shimmied straight out of a carnival in Brazil. The kids go nuts for ‘em. You want peach or cherry?”

“I’ll take the brontosaurus,” Castiel said lightly, pulling the container towards him. “Since I’m your cherry pie, and all.”

Dean snorted. “I was hammered when I sang that, it doesn’t count.”

“ _Cool drink of water such a sweet surpri-ise—_ ” Castiel laughed as Dean thwapped him on the forehead with a plastic spoon.

“Just eat your fuckin’ pie, Cas,” Dean said, opening his own container and shovelling peach-soaked pastry onto his spoon. It was mushy at the bottom, but frankly Dean didn’t give a crap; pie was pie.

“Wha’d’ya think?” he asked, mouth full. “Cherry as good as apple? Think I could win _Food Magazine_ ’s best pie for the fourth year in a row and become a museum buff’s tastebuds’ hero?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Dean, it’s _pie_. It’s not as if you shot Hitler.” 

“You sayin’ pie can’t save the world?”

“I’m sayin’—” Castiel paused to chew, “that—” he chewed some more, sighing, eyes shut. He swallowed, then set his jaw, giving Dean a long, stubborn stare.

Dean raised his eyebrows, expectant.

Castiel eventually glanced away, but flicked his eyes upward as he looked back. “It’s slightly too sweet. And the cherry texture could be fuller. But, yes, I think the cherry is on par with the apple.”

“Yesss,” Dean said, yanking a fist against his side. “Booyah. Newspaper reviewer can go pop his own damn cherry. Gift shop cutie likes my pie!”

“Don’t like _you_ , though,” Castiel said, sinking closer, taking some peach pie out of Dean’s serving and tipping it into his own container.

Dean grunted, then moved in to steal some of the cherry pie back, gulping it in his mouth before Castiel could challenge him to a spoon duel.

“Mm,” Dean nodded. “Yep, cherry’s better.”

“You got a little pie...” Castiel gestured at his lips, eyes on Dean’s mouth. “Right there. Left.”

“Hm?” Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Well, now you just smeared it,” Castiel said in annoyance. “I meant _your_ left.”

Defensively, Dean replied, “ _I_ didn’t know that, did I?” He leaned in close. “Kiss it off me, would you?”

Castiel shoved Dean’s face away with his whole hand, making Dean laugh. He swung back in time to see Castiel sucking the pie smudge off the side of his hand.

“Taste like me?” Dean asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I wouldn't know what you taste like, given that I’ve never tasted you.” 

Dean scoffed. “Funny.”

Castiel responded with a blank look. “If you say so.”

Dean bowed his head, digging around in what was left of his pie so he didn’t have to look up. “ _You_ say so. I don’t say anything. Shuddup.”

Ignoring that comment, Castiel ate up his last morsels, leaving his open container and plastic spoon on Dean’s side of the desk. “My night shift starts in ten minutes,” Castiel said, checking the wristwatch Dean had given him for his birthday. “Have to finish up here first.” He sighed, “Ahh, almost done. Too many t-shirts.” He got back to folding the offending items on the desktop, which was presumably what he’d been working on before Dean arrived with pie.

“You ever get a nap?” Dean asked.

“Do I look like I get a nap?” Castiel asked, settling Dean with a dead-eyed stare.

Dean pursed his lips, observing those ever-present eyebags that clung to the sockets of his friend’s skull. Dean didn’t answer, just looked down and scraped up his final mouthful. He swallowed, licked his lips, then stacked his container inside Castiel’s – and in the same movement, pulled forward a few shirts to fold.

They worked in silence for a while. Every t-shirt was maroon red with the museum’s logo screenprinted front and centre; each one was folded the same way. Face down, sleeves back, bottom up – then into a pile of the same size.

They were done in two minutes, and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief.

“Clocking out now?” Dean asked.

Castiel yawned, heels of his hands against his eyes. He rubbed them gently, then exhaled and relaxed. “What? Oh. Yes. Onto the next shift.” He checked his watch again. “Nine-ten-eleven...” He sagged on his feet. “I’m here until six.”

Dean grimaced. “Dunno how you do it, man. Yeah, I barely need four hours of sleep a night, but you? I’m surprised you even get home. Afternoon shift, my ass. You never _stop_.”

Castiel eased out from behind the checkout counter, heading for the front of the store. He reached up, unhooking a gate from the ceiling, rolling it down to cover the left half of the gift shop’s entrance. Dean went to get the other one, but paused, arms up, waving to Alicia and Max as they took off their staff blazers, mid-conversation. Max waved back, then made a lewd hand gesture and pointed at Castiel. Dean glanced over, relieved to see Castiel hadn’t seen. Dean flipped Max the bird and locked the store down for the night.

Castiel returned to behind the desk, undoing his white button-down as he went.

“You’re getting changed here?” Dean said, mildly startled.

“Can’t be bothered with the locker room,” Castiel said, flaring out his open shirt, starting on his belt buckle. His eyes darted to Dean, who had followed him behind the desk, staring. “You’re going to watch?”

“Uh? Oh. No.” Dean spun around, hot in the face. “What kinda pervert d’ya think I am?” He heard Castiel inhale, so quickly added, “Don’t answer that.”

Dean listened, skin bristling the entire time, envisioning what state of undress Castiel might be in. Pants off – no, wait, they got caught on his dress shoes. Shoes off, tumbling on the carpet. Crisp navy-blue dress shirt, slid out from a shelf under the desk, and pulled on, arm by arm. Buttoned up... slowly... slowly... Done. Now the crisp navy-blue uniform pants...

Dean turned at the waist, curious eyes magnetised to Castiel’s bare legs. He had angular knees and ankles, hairy calves... big, _muscular_ thighs. Dean admired the swell of his ass in those tight little white boxers... Dean felt his lips parting, heat rising under his skin. He watched Castiel stuffing his navy shirt hem down into his pants, belt on. Belt fastened.

Dean glanced up, saw Castiel looking at him, and turned away fast as lightning.

Blushing.

Blushing, blushing, _blushing_. Too hot, all the way down his chest. Too tight between his legs.

Coolly, as if he was curious, Castiel asked, “Why did you look?”

Dean lowered his chin to his chest, tongue-tied. “Ah? Auh. Um. I didn’t.” A shrugged shoulder, a whisper: “I dunno.” His eyes rose to stare at a patch of carpet a few feet away. He frowned, shocked by his own actions. “I... dunno.”

Dean hesitantly turned around, suspecting it was safe now. Castiel was buckling up his security guard’s utility belt, complete with a hefty flashlight, a set of handcuffs, a taser, a walkie-talkie radio, a big ring of jingly silver keys, and a little pouch where Dean knew he kept gum and an Altoids tin full of chocolate-coated almonds. Last of all, the belt supported a portable tape deck, with a wire trailing up Castiel’s chest, bulky black headphones now hung around the back of his neck.

Castiel met Dean’s eyes, non-judgemental as ever, and Dean flushed hot again.

“Sorry, man,” Dean mumbled. “It— It’s just this thing.” He sidled closer, hips pushed close to Castiel’s by the rim of the desk. Dean’s hands took a sure grip on Castiel’s uniform collar, tugging it straight. “Mm.” Dean bit his lip.

“You still like the uniform,” Castiel observed, eyes narrowed in amusement, one eyebrow raised in a way that seemed slightly dominating.

Dean felt his heart flutter. He rolled one stiff shoulder in a shrug, open hands sliding down Castiel’s chest, wrinkling the shirt over his nipples. He took Castiel’s waist, licking his lips wet, definitely feeling his cock swelling against his thigh in reaction to the _width_ of Cas’ body. “Ah, it’s just,” Dean uttered, “y-you look really sexy. ‘Cause of the uniform. Like, specifically the uniform – not _you_. I mean, just so we’re clear.”

“Right,” Castiel said.

Dean turned around quickly, bending to look under the desk, ass bumping Castiel’s crotch – and he came up triumphant. “Hat!” he said, rotating the peaked cap in eager hands. He lifted it to Castiel’s head, stroking a few of Castiel’s dark strands off his forehead before placing the cap atop his head. Dean purred seductively. “Rrrr. Sexy.”

“So you keep saying.”

Dean licked his lips again, tongue pushing out slowly this time. His eyes met Castiel’s, and they gazed at each other for a while, Dean’s heart racing, lips twitching every few moments – unsaid words, unexpressed desires. He didn’t know what he wanted, he was just sure he wanted _something_. And Cas looked entirely fuckable in that hat. Seriously.

“Are you done?” Castiel asked, looking down at Dean’s hands. “Can I get to work now?”

“What?” Dean lifted his hands, realising he’d been stroking the buckle of Castiel’s belt. “Oh. Yeah. C’mon, like I’d hold _you_ up. Pff.”

Castiel plucked his walkie-talkie radio out from his belt, switching it on, checking it had a full charge. He held down the button. “Three-three-oh-one, checking in, ready for duty. Three-three-oh-one. Over.”

A pause. Dean scratched his nose.

The radio crackled to life, and a woman’s voice came through, distorted by static. “ _Heya, Cas. There’s a box’a donuts at the front desk if you want one. Kinda hard to keep from eatin’ ‘em all myself._ ”

Castiel glanced at Dean, and when Dean nodded eagerly, Castiel replied, “Thank you, Donna, we’ll be there in a moment. Over and out.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, uh. Cas?”

“Mm?” Castiel tucked the radio back into his belt, looking back at Dean.

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “You... want some company tonight? Hang out, sneak into the paid exhibits?”

Castiel’s forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

“Y’know. I could stick around. While you do your thing.”

“You know it’s a nine-hour shift, don’t you?” One side of Castiel’s mouth rose by a few degrees when Dean nodded. “You’d stay here all night?”

“What’s the big deal, you do it all the time. I’ve pulled all-nighters before. With girls. If ya know what I mean,” Dean winked.

“How could I possibly know what you mean,” Castiel said in the most deadpan way humanly possible, before flicking his eyes to the ceiling.

“Right, right,” Dean said, nudging Castiel in the side. “Feelin’ left out, huh? Forgot I’m talking to the gift shop’s resident confetti parade. Can’t forget those assorted unidentified genders, hm?”

“Don’t patronise me,” Castiel said, pushing past Dean to leave the desk.

“I’ll patronise you all I want— Hang on, you have t-shirt fluff in your hair,” Dean said, pausing for a moment as Castiel turned around to let him pick the fluff out. It wouldn’t stick between his fingers, so Dean blew sharply against Castiel’s hair, and the fluff floated away. “There, you’re pretty again.”

“I’m always pretty,” Castiel said bluntly. He led Dean to the store’s back door, opening it so Dean would leave first. Castiel set the alarm panel at the side, then exited, and used his staff keycard to lock the door.

“So, can I?” Dean asked, trotting after Castiel as he made his way to the front desk. The sun had almost set, and the atrium was cooler than it had been before. “Can I tag along, or what?”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Castiel asked. “Like bed women and polish your gun?”

“Hey, I don’t need a girl to polish my gun, I can do that one-handed,” Dean quipped, feeling accomplished when Castiel made a guttural noise of disgust.

They came to the front desk, and Donna offered them the box of donuts without looking up from her security camera monitors. Dean picked a sugar-coated donut and bit into it, watching Castiel shatter the icing on a chocolate-topped one.

“D’n,” Castiel said, mouth full, “Look, I’b be puf’cktly huppy t’let you ‘pag along’—” finger quotes, dropping a bit of icing, “buh fwankly you’re jush going to fall ashleep, you might ’s well go home.” He swallowed, shaking his head.

“My money’s with Cas,” Donna said, again without looking up. “Dean fell asleep watching _Fury Road_ , he can’t keep his head up for peanuts.”

Dean gaped. “It was Christmas! Turkey makes me sleepy!” Scowling, Dean turned back to Castiel. “Dammit, Cas, I _can_ make it until your shift ends. Watch me.”

Castiel huffed, pointing threateningly at Dean with his donut. “You nod off _once_ , you’re paying for breakfast.”

“Done,” Dean said, offering a hand. “One condition: you share your coffee.”

Sugar-sticky, they shook.

-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . ♥ .-.. --- ...- . .-.. -.--

“How do you not have _extra_ flashlights,” Dean complained, giving Donna’s borrowed light a good shake, then reeling backwards when it blazed bright into his eyes. “Giant fuckin’ museum, Cas, and you got one working flashlight and one strobe. What’re we meant to do in an emergency, huh?”

“Suffer and die quietly,” Castiel said, stalking out of the unisex bathroom, fresh-faced and empty-bladdered. “Now keep up, I’m not about to fall behind in my scheduled rounds just because your baby feet get tired.”

Dean scampered to match Castiel’s stride, quickly learning to keep up. “No leisurely stroll?”

Castiel scoffed.

“Guess not.” Dean clicked his flashlight off and on again, sweeping the sputtering beam around the atrium, walking backwards, observing how the light vanished as it met with the very last of the daylight. Blue gloom had overtaken the marble hall, and the only friendly beacon was the reading light poised over the book on Donna’s lap, illuminating her socked feet, crossed up on the desk. Even that sight grew smaller as Castiel marched off with Dean in tow, turning from the atrium towards the dinosaur exhibit.

Castiel led Dean onto a carpeted metal bridge, over the bullpen containing animatronic dinosaurs, the likes of which had once lived and thrived in North America. The mechanical beasts were switched off, mouths half-open, the mother pterodactyl frozen around her painted concrete eggs.

“You take the same route every time?” Dean asked, as Castiel breezed past the information plaques, probably having read them twelve thousand times.

Castiel ignored Dean for a moment, one finger jabbing at a wall control, inputting a code. The window shutters began to roll down automatically, a metal cage sealing the dinosaurs inside for the night. “It varies, but mostly, yes,” Castiel said after a moment, his blue gaze tossed casually over his shoulder. “I follow the map the tour guides follow, it means I leave no room unchecked.”

“You never found anyone breaking in, huh,” Dean said. “You would’ve told me if you had.”

Castiel shook his head. “As Alicia likes to joke, we’re the world’s most generic museum. There’s nothing especially outstanding on display. Breaking in would be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“‘Cept for the thrill of it, right?” Dean said, following Castiel through the building, heading left towards the next exhibit. “Always kinda cool to hang out in places you’re not meant to be. Hey, maybe someone would want a giant dinosaur model in their living room. Can’t be too hard to pull off, either. Someone would just have to _hide_ when the staff come by, looking for stragglers. It’s not like the whole place is full of Zeta-Jones-style lasers, if you ‘n me are walking around.”

“Individual cases have lasers,” Castiel said, pointing at the kind of case he meant: four sides of glass surrounded a plinth, with an informative placard beside it, explaining the archaeological artifact inside. “But our first alert for intruders would be unexpected movement on the security cameras. There is the occasional blind spot, but it would be extremely hard to achieve a significant level of mischief without being noticed.”

Dean screwed up his face at the sight of a prehistoric bug shell. “This room always gives me the creeps.”

“Three-three-oh-one, checking in. Dinosaurs and creepy-crawlies, room’s clear. Over.”

“ _There’s slippery tiles beside the kids area, just a heads up. Janitor ran outta ‘wet floor’ signs. And check the movie theatre twice, some dude fell asleep in there last week, when Garth was running the night shift. Had to escort the guy home in a taxi._ ”

“Acknowledged. Three-three-oh-one over and out.”

Dean smirked. He liked the back-and-forth between Donna and Castiel. “You’re kinda like me and Benny,” he said, as they left the exhibit, entering an open marble concourse, neon lights illuminating the three balconies above. “You and Donna get along pretty well, huh?”

Castiel nodded. He took Dean’s arm suddenly and pulled him aside – Dean’s boot only squeaked a little bit, having narrowly avoided the wet tiles Donna had just warned them about.

It took a few moments before Dean realised Castiel was still gripping his arm as they walked.

“I’m safe now, Cas,” Dean said, pat-patting Castiel’s thigh with the back of his hand. “Thanks.”

Castiel released him. “Can’t be too careful,” he said, business-like. He spent a minute checking over the kids’ play area, including inside the plastic tunnel. He then pulled out his radio and confirmed, “Three-three-oh-one, play area is secure, over.”

Dean smirked. He began, “Not that it ain’t a turn-on, but you know you probably don’t have to state your—”

“ _State your rank one more time and I’ll get one of those numbers shaved off your badge, soldier,_ ” Donna warned.

Castiel frowned. He lifted his lips to the radio, but his eyes were set firmly on Dean as he said, “I _like_ being official. It’s more fun than pretending to be soft and _chipper_ to work retail.”

Donna sighed, crackling in the radio speaker. “ _Just save the military talk for private time with your boyfriend, would ya? Jeez._ ”

Castiel squinted in confusion. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“ _No? Then who’s the sugar-dusted walking freckle who pinched my own personal flashlight, ha? Goes by the name of Dean Winchester, drank my mini-fridge dry – and that’s_ after _saying he doesn’t touch those ‘prissy’ drinks._ ”

Dean gave an open shrug when Castiel looked his way.

Castiel, more firmly this time, spoke into the radio: “I do _not_ have a boyfriend. Especially not one by that name.”

Although Dean felt his ears burning, he acted like he didn’t. He turned away, shrugging his plaid shirt tighter on his shoulders, pointing his flashlight towards the dimmed lights of the next room.

Castiel cleared his throat. “Three-three-oh-one to front desk: screw you, over and out.”

Dean didn’t let Cas see his blush. But _damn_ , it burned.

-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . ♥ ... .--. . -.-. .. .- .-..

“ABBA? Seriously? Did I even hear that right? You want me to put _ABBA_ on your next mixtape.”

“I like their songs,” Castiel shrugged, eyes on the teal walls of the wide corridor they walked through. “Also, if there are any R-n-B singers you think I should listen to, I’d appreciate that. I’m particularly fond of the Knowles family’s music.”

Dean’s eyes flicked up, but he resisted rolling them completely. “I’m trying to get you into classic rock, Cas. You listen to Beyoncé and your IKEA folk bands in your own time, alright?”

Castiel scowled. “What about classic R-n-B? So many of the songs you share with me have origins in historic black culture – jazz and soul: the same starting point as rhythm-and-blues. Fine, you don’t like _Halo_ , but you don’t have to be an ass about it.”

Dean pouted, elbowing Castiel gently. “Dude, I’m ribbing. I like _Halo_ and _Gimmie! Gimmie! Gimmie!_ as much as the next guy. And hell, I like you, don’t I – so if I ever scrounge up the cash, I _would_ put a ring on it. Hand?” He took Castiel’s hand, making him spread his fingers. “What ring size are you, ten? Eleven?”

Castiel snatched back his hand, laughing. “Why don’t I make _you_ a mixtape?” he suggested, looking at Dean fondly. “ABBA. Solange. Kanye West, a few indie singers.”

“ _Indie_ ,” Dean repeated in despair. “Ugh. No wonder you and Sam you get along like a fuckin’ house on fire. If you put an audiobook on that thing, I’m breaking up with you. This friendship is _over_.”

Castiel smirked.

“I’m not kidding, don’t,” Dean repeated. “I like my books corporeal. Smug asshole.”

“You have a CD player in your car, don’t you,” Castiel asked casually.

Dean fumed, knowing full well that Cas was just trying to piss him off. And it was working. “I’m not ruining my baby with a _CD player_. She’s got a tape deck, and she’s keeping it.”

Castiel laughed to himself, waiting so Dean could storm through a doorway first. They were headed into the more artistic part of the museum, with rooms of paintings and sculptures.

“I do mean it, though,” Castiel said, ignoring the paintings in favour of pointing his flashlight at Dean. “I’m not good at working the tape player. I’ve barely mastered the art of turning the tape over and remembering which way to scrub to find the song I want. Having A sides and B sides messes with my brain.”

Dean donned a careless expression and clapped him on the back, rubbing. “You’ll get it. The day you figure out how to make a proper mixtape, that’s the day I will gladly listen to Kanye fuckin’ West without complaining.”

“I do think you ought to have a CD player in the Impala though,” Castiel noted, finally looking away to check the room over. “Just in case I don’t figure it out.”

“You will,” Dean reiterated, flipping his flashlight, catching it in a confident hand. “You’re a fast learner.”

Castiel hummed noncommittally. He paused, then bent down, swinging one leg out as a counterweight as he lowered one hand to the floor. He plucked up something shiny, and he looked at it as he straightened, smiling. “I found a penny.”

“I heard that’s good luck,” Dean said.

“Do you want it?” Castiel asked, offering it on his open hand. “I have decent luck at present.”

Dean wavered – that thing probably wasn’t very clean – but eventually he accepted the gift. “Thanks, buddy.” With an affectionate shake of his head, he slipped the coin into his back pocket. He wiped his fingers firmly on his jeans afterwards, until he was sure the germs were too bruised to function.

He began flipping the flashlight again as he walked, letting it tumble back and forth, bumping off his palm and only diving down after a few mid-air acrobatics. The flickering beam whipped up and around the room each time.

Dean didn’t pay the light much attention, and carried on with his tricks. They left the first gallery and moved through a hallway to the next. But, after Dean’s thirtieth flip, Castiel let out a terse mutter: “Are you going to do that all night? You’re making the room spin.”

“It’s fun,” Dean complained. “Bet you could make a flashlight flip look awesome.”

“I’d rather keep my flashlight in one piece, thank you.”

Dean gave Castiel’s arm a back-handed pat. “You got good hand-eye coordination, Cas. You’d catch it.”

“What’s the big deal?” Castiel asked bluntly. “Why are you being so encouraging?”

“I just wanna see if you can do it, that’s all,” Dean said.

Castiel stalked up to the next room, pausing at the arched entryway to poke a wall switch. All around, gentle amber lights came on, dimly uplighting this section of the museum’s art gallery.

Dean followed Castiel into the gallery, eyes turning to look at an oil painting of a cow in a field. The ceiling remained dark, but Dean saw pipes up there, high above.

“You wouldn’t hit the ceiling if you tossed it high,” Dean said. “Here, use Donna’s, it’s basically busted anyway.”

“Dean—”

Dean insisted, nudging Castiel’s hand with the back end of the flashlight.

Castiel gave a long-suffering sigh, stowing away his own flashlight. He gave Dean a dull look, then glanced at his hand, tossing the flashlight up, flipping it halfway before he caught it reflexively, lightbulb end in his hand.

“Again,” Dean said, hand pushing Castiel’s shoulder. “C’mon.”

“I don’t want to break it,” Castiel said.

“You got this,” Dean repeated, patting Castiel’s chest twice. He stepped back, giving Castiel some room.

Castiel exhaled, concentrating. Then he flipped the flashlight – it lifted, spiralling over and over as it rose up two whole feet before coming back down— Dean stepped forward and snatched it out of the air, since Castiel’s lunge didn’t take him far enough.

“Not bad,” Dean said, even though it was. “Here.” He tossed it back, and Castiel caught it.

Castiel threw the light up again, and grinned as it came down in his hand.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Damn.”

The third and fourth flips were as good as Dean’s. Castiel was a goddamn natural at everything, it seemed. He was one of _those_ people.

“Now you’re just showin’ me up,” Dean grouched, as Castiel balanced the flashlight on the back of his knuckles, then turned his hand quick to make it look like the flashlight was stationary in mid-air.

Castiel gave the thing a few more spins, then handed it back to Dean, grinning.

“That was fun, you were right,” Castiel agreed. Dean took the flashlight, then watched Castiel turn away, meandering forward to look at a painting.

“Told you you’re a fast learner,” Dean called after him. “Mixtape’s gonna be no problem.” He went up to Castiel’s side, curious eyes on his utility belt, where he’d stashed his flashlight. “You ever get to carry a gun?” Dean pried.

“Taser,” Castiel said, patting his belt. His eyes were trained on a huge painting, a snapshot of a local landscape not seen since a century ago.

Dean reached his fingers to touch Castiel’s strapped-in taser, then along to the handcuffs. “You ever cuff anyone?”

“Donna,” Castiel said. “By accident. She was unimpressed.”

Dean chuckled. “You don’t get a lot of action, huh.”

“No,” Castiel said. “But I’m okay with that.”

Dean solemnly wondered if that statement applied to more than just museum-guarding. He knew Cas wasn’t a particularly sexual person, so it seemed entirely possible...

Castiel moved forward, examining a detail on the painting. One boot lifted onto a short step in front of him, and Dean was alarmed to feel a tingling, sparkling arousal rush through his body, only increasing as his eyes lingered on the straining stitchwork of Castiel’s uniform pants, the way his ass filled out the back, stretching the pockets—

Dean looked down and away, blinking a few times. “Shit.”

“What?” Castiel straightened, looking inquisitively at Dean. “What are you muttering about, now?”

Dean cleared his throat, fingers fidgeting on his belt buckle. “Nothing.” He exhaled through his open mouth, eyes helplessly tracking to Castiel’s crotch, interested by the bulge. Blushing furiously, Dean forced his eyes away.

Too weak to resist, his attention slid back, and he watched Castiel move away to wander the gallery, taking his time to look at a few more artworks. Dean couldn’t help looking at his ass, each buttock supporting a functional pocket. He then admired his back, with a well-ironed double-crease in the shirt structure. The thing hugged Castiel’s lithe frame a little too well. Dean’s mouth had gone dry.

Part of Dean wanted to drag Castiel to a chair – a stairwell, even – and ask him to sit. Lean back. Spread his legs, touch himself through his uniform while looking at Dean. Dean almost incinerated himself with the fantasy, needing to flap the hem of his t-shirt to get some air against his overheating belly.

He’d watched too many online videos of good-looking strangers defiling the honour of their army combat uniforms, or their hospital scrubs and labcoats, or plain old work suits. And at the same time, Dean could never find enough of what he liked, and even his favourite porn wasn’t satisfying enough. Some people didn’t touch themselves the way Dean preferred, or they took their uniform off too early, or their hair was too long, or their moans were too high-pitched. Sometimes their eyes were the wrong colour. Surely it would be better if the subject of Dean’s attention was a friend, someone he was close to, and could comfortably relay instructions to.

He could tell Cas to squeeze himself. Ask him to moan louder, look more aroused, back arching, mouth open. Dean could get him to come inside his uniform without undoing the pants, then show off the mess he’d made.

But, as Dean quickly reminded himself, Cas wasn’t a particularly sexual person – maybe he didn’t touch himself. He’d been fine with Dean’s dark-eyed looks up until now, but maybe he didn’t want to be objectified to that extreme. Maybe he’d think it was weird that Dean desperately wanted to jack off while looking at him in his boring everyday work clothes.

Or... maybe he wouldn’t mind. Cas was an accepting, open-minded person. He already knew Dean was crazy about the uniform; he’d noticed Dean trying to hide partial erections because of it before.

Dean wouldn’t know if Cas was in or out until he asked, right—?

Starting forward, mind halfway made up, Dean was stopped in his tracks by a buzzing in his pocket. He huffed, both annoyed and relieved. He snatched up the phone, shoulders sinking when he saw it was Max Banes calling him.

Dean accepted the call with guilt swishing around inside him. “Hey, what’s up,” he said, voice mellow.

“ _You’re not here,_ ” Max said, voice smooth and irritated at once. “ _Ten-fifteen, Dean. We got popcorn and everything. Salted caramel, your faaaave._ ”

“God-dammit,” Dean uttered, fingers pressing against his eyelids. “Look, Max, I’m sorry, I’m not gonna be able to make it.”

“ _Let me guess. Pretty girl caught your attention?_ ”

Dean inhaled stiffly, hating that he was so predictable. His eyes went to Castiel, who peered back curiously from the other side of the gallery. “No, actually,” Dean said. “It’s, uh... a work thing.”

“ _Oh-ho,_ ” Max sang. His voice quieted as he spoke to his sister, “ _It’s a ‘work thing’. Apparently._ ”

“I’m a jackass, I know,” Dean growled, eyes rising to the pipes in the ceiling. “Honestly, man, I completely forgot. Got... distracted.” He wet his lips, mentally kicking himself for being such a flake. “I’ll make it up to you. Lunch at Wendy’s, Saturday.”

There was a kerfuffle at the other end of the line – Alicia muttered, voice becoming sharper as she got nearer. “ _Give me that,_ ” she said, taking the phone from her brother.

Dean heard a beep, and he lowered his phone to look at it. He had an incoming request for a video conversation, and he accepted it.

Alica’s bushy ombre hair took up most of the screen, until her face came into view, lit from underneath, her fake eyelashes batting as she blinked. “ _Did you say you were a jackass yet?_ ”

“ _Yeah, he said that,_ ” Max said coolly, his close-shaven head easing into frame with Alicia’s cheek. “ _He’s sorry, though, and hey-ell, we know it’s true, ‘cause we got salted caramel popcorn and black liquorice, and guess who doesn’t._ ”

Dean pretended his mouth wasn’t watering. “The movie’s still gonna be fun without me, c’mon. What would we even do together? Sit in the dark, not talking? We’re talkin’ more now.”

“ _Please, you know we miss your ‘old man opinions’,_ ” Alicia said, putting the phone right up to her face to enunciate those last three words. When she pulled the phone down again, she asked, “ _Where even are you?_ ”

Dean looked behind him, realising his co-workers might recognise the art gallery by its red walls and gold picture frames. “Just, uh. Taking a long walk.” He glanced up as Castiel approached. Dean swung around to fit Castiel in the picture. “Got my buddy here.”

“ _Oh look,_ ” Max drawled, looking unimpressed, “ _there’s the real reason he forgot us._ ”

“Hey, dude,” Dean said, fake-grumpy, “There’s enough salt on that popcorn, quit upending the shaker.”

Max let out a dismissive “ _Ugh,_ ” but Dean saw his secret smile.

“ _We should go,_ ” Alicia said, on the verge of giggling. “ _Don’t wanna ruin your date._ ”

“It’s not a date!” Dean spluttered. “Why do you guys keep calling it a date whenever I meet up with Cas?”

“ _You wanna know the ironic thing?_ ” Max said to Alicia, ignoring Dean, “ _Right as work ended today I waved to this jackass, try’na get him to invite his boyfriend along with us tonight, and he ditches us for Cas anyways._ ”

Dean coloured. “Wha— Hey. I thought you were tellin’ me to – you know... get busy with him.” A nervous glance assured Dean that Castiel was not especially rattled by that confession. “Max. Bud. I flipped you off ‘cause—” Dean slung an arm over Castiel’s shoulders, bumping his headphones, “we’re not into that. Me ‘n Cas are taking it slow.”

“ _Oh, yeah right,_ ” Alicia jibed, sneering and grinning into Max’s phone. “ _Nobody at the museum even knows if you’re together or not, and personally? Wow, I don’t think_ you _even know. Either way you’re both clearly head over heels for each other._ ”

“ _Goo-goo eyes and all,_ ” Max interjected, playing up the pouty expression on camera. Alicia laughed out loud. “ _Dean, come on, you look at Cas like you want him to_ bury _you face-down in a mattress. And I’d know that look, I practise that look in the mirror._ ”

Castiel glanced at Dean quickly, but just as hastily lowered his eyes.

Dean set his hand in Castiel’s hair and ruffled it, making him chuckle. “Don’t worry, Cas,” he said plainly, “They can’t prove anything.”

Alicia opened her mouth so Max could toss some popcorn in there. “ _Whatever the deal is with you two,_ ” she said, crunching, “ _there’s a half-dozen dinner tokens and gift cards riding on it. So you better do us proud and come out with the truth eventually._ ”

“You made bets?” Castiel said, mildly affronted. “What did you bet on, exactly?”

“ _That’s for us to know and you to find out, gift shop cutie,_ ” Alicia said sweetly, before laughing. “ _A’right, we gotta go, the movie’s gonna start._ ”

“ _Go be gay,_ ” Max whispered breathily into the phone’s speaker. With a dastardly grin, he ended the call, and the screen went blank.

Dean lowered the phone, still smiling, but anxious in the pit of his stomach.

“I just realised, I never asked you,” Castiel said, in a dazed kind of way. “ _Are_ we dating?”

Startled, Dean yelped, “What! No!”

When Castiel seemed unsure, Dean reminded him, “Look, I love you, man – bottom of my heart. But jeez, dating’s a whole different thing. There’s, like, _effort_ involved in that. You ‘n me just... hang out. Whenever. Like tonight.”

“Well, for the record, I love you too, Dean,” Castiel nodded, seemingly satisfied. He inhaled, looking down. He nodded once more, apparently to himself, then turned away. “Let’s finish this part of the gallery. There’s still three more to get through before the Famous People exhibit.”

-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . ♥ .-- --- .-. - .... -.--

It had to have been a full hour before they even got to the Egyptian exhibit. The doors and the ceiling of this room were so tall that they made Dean dizzy just looking at them. The main lights were off, but every glass case had a gentle amber glow around its base, illuminating the artifacts.

“Makes no sense that we even _have_ this,” Dean muttered. “Like, I get it – museums are a neat place where we can put an official ‘look at this cool shit we found’ sign, but man.” He looked distrustfully at an ancient item of pottery. “If this stuff’s cursed, I ain’t blaming the Egyptians.”

“I thought you were going to say it didn’t make sense that we have a room dedicated to Ancient Egypt,” Castiel said, stubbled chin bumping the headphones around his neck as he turned to glance at Dean. “Because, of course: the Museum of _American_ Artifacts. This giant statue of Anubis is definitely relevant.”

Dean wandered past on careful feet, flashlight beam pointed at the ten-foot jackal’s chin. He switched his focus to the equally monstrous statue of Bastet, the cat goddess, whose carved stone eyes had been staring ahead for the last thirty-odd years. She wasn’t ancient, just a recreation. But she still terrified Dean.

“Thank God this ain’t like that _Night at the Museum_ movie,” Dean breathed, rushing to catch up with Castiel, who was checking in with Donna. “Much as I hate to admit it, I’d shit my pants if those things came to life.”

“Be grateful we don’t have an actual mummified body in our inventory,” Castiel chuckled, amused eyes sparkling in Dean’s direction. “Although, it’s funny, I never did say the museum _doesn’t_ come to life...” He trailed off teasingly.

“Oh, ha, ha, that’s hilarious,” Dean drawled, trailing after Cas through the doors at the end of the corridor. Dean’s follow-up retort was promptly stifled, upon seeing the next room. All the windows along the right side were ceiling-high, draped with parted velvet curtains. Each window was blazing with blue moonlight, cutting smart lines of silver across the checkered tile floor. Glass cases displayed their prizes, every one of them magnificent in the light.

“Holy shit,” Dean said, turning off his flashlight, pocketing it and lacing its cord onto his belt loop. “ _Wow_... This is... amazing.”

“Isn’t it,” Castiel agreed. “It’s perfect this time of year. When the moon’s at a different angle, when I come by, it’s never this fantastic. You tagged along at the right time.”

Dean’s grin was lopsided and shaky. He wandered forward, eyes eating up the sights, heart held in rapture.

Every footstep echoed exactly once. Dean assumed anyone or anything could be made radiant in this room; the light took dull colours and unpolished surfaces and made them magical. Things seemed to sparkle. Eyes turning to Castiel, Dean confirmed he was right. Even with his head bent down, wearing a frown of concentration, one thumb jabbing at buttons on his tape player, Castiel was...

Handsome.

No, more than that. Gorgeous? Was Dean allowed to think that?

Dean parted his lips, unsure of himself. With any other person, he wouldn’t have hesitated, he’d have straight-up said, ‘ _Lighting in here makes you look awesome, man. You could be that freakin’ sparkling vampire guy, from that movie I definitely didn’t watch._ ’

But this was Cas. He was... beautiful. He wasn’t _like_ anything else, or anyone else. He was simply beautiful, by standards all his own. And frankly Dean would rather slurp up his own shoelaces with chopsticks and soy sauce before he admitted something like that.

“Aha,” Castiel said, as Dean heard muffled treble escaping his headphones. “Mmm... mmm... mm-mm.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Bob Dylan?”

“ _Oh, Mama, take this badge off of me,_ ” Castiel sang, eyes closed; he expelled a rough masculine timbre, hard notes turned soft on a tired voice. “ _‘Cause ah can’t use it, a-any mo-ore..._ ”

Dean felt his heartbeat double and his breath vanish. “Cas...”

Castiel’s voice _reverberated_.

This room was made for singing.

“ _It’s gettin’ dark, too dark to see,_ ” Castiel continued, eyes opening, blue stars settling their gaze on Dean, lips angled into a smile. “ _Feel like I’m knocking on Heaven’s door._ ”

He laughed, jumping forward to snatch up Dean’s hand. Dean exhaled in astonishment as he was led out into an empty space, tumbling with Castiel’s pull until they were steady on their feet, boots on diamond-checkered marble. Castiel swayed Dean like a child, too exaggerated to be called a dance – Dean laughed, shaking his head in time with the music he barely heard through the headphones.

“ _Knock-knocking on He-eaven’s door,_ ” Castiel sang, partly under his breath, partly out loud.

“Whoo!” Dean cheered, spinning out, shimmying back in, shoulders shaking. Castiel laughed, eyes crinkled, moonlight catching on his crooked bottom teeth.

“ _I’m knock-knock-knocking on He-eaven’s door,_ ” they sang together, finding confidence and belting out the song together. Dean pointed both forefingers at Castiel as the next verse began.

Castiel had such an odd singing voice. It was smooth and ran the way honey did, but stayed rough, like one too many cigarettes. “ _Oh, Mama, put that gun to the ground – ‘cause a-AH! can’t shOOT them a-any mo-ore!_ ”

Castiel tipped his head back, eyes closed, a grin wide on his face. His hands stroked up Dean’s biceps, their eyes meeting as Castiel cradled the back of Dean’s neck. Dean sang, voice shaking and small, “ _There’s a long black clo-oud... comin’-on-down..._ ” A whisper, “ _Feel I’m knocking on Heaven’s door._ ”

And he did feel that way. _Oh_ , he really did. He didn’t know how he was still breathing, with Castiel’s fingers splayed in his hair.

Together, “ _I’m knock-knock-knocking on Heaven’s door—_ ”

Castiel was bolder. He didn’t sense the heartbeat that was overriding Dean’s every thought. Dean’s whole body was pounding, and his mouth wasn’t the only part of him that was singing, and he didn’t know why. He could easily guess but he didn’t want to. He preferred not to know.

“ _—He-eaven’s door,_ ” Castiel still cried out, head tilted, shouting against Dean’s shoulder, some of his weight hung upon his shoulders as Castiel let the song _ride_ him, as it made him bend his knees to swing with it. “Come _on_ , Dean. Sing! _I’m knock-knock-knocking on..._ ”

“..e’ven’s door,” Dean finished, voice cracking. “ _Knock-knock-knocking on Heaven’s door._ ”

They swayed. Definitely dancing now. Slow-dancing, maybe. Castiel with a gleeful smile, Dean with an awed one, and his heart stumbling in his throat. He grew dizzy, his mind spinning around and around their bodies, as if pulling a rope that tied them closer together, tightening with every breath.

_Knock-knock-knocking on Heaven’s door—_  
_I’m knock-knock-knocking on Heaven’s door..._

“ _Ooh, ooh, oo-ooh... Feeeeels like I’m kno-ockin, ye-eaaaaah,_ ” Castiel finished, sagging backwards. He folded against Dean’s front, laughing, arms around his shoulders. The music moved to the next track with a small crackle, a wonky recording from when Dean had paused to change tapes. Castiel reached down, and with the snap of a pause button, the room was silent once again.

Just their breathing. Dean was deafened by his own heartbeat.

They swayed a bit, gently. Embracing each other, holding on in the quiet, holding each other. Cas smelled like donuts and excitement.

Castiel’s thumb shifted – just the tiniest bit, stroking against the nape of Dean’s neck. Dean’s eyes nearly whited out from bliss, and he hated it. He was scared. Anubis and Bastet could gobble him up whole and he’d be less afraid than he was at this moment. He didn’t know what to do now.

So he did what he always did when he was afraid: he fucked up. He slid his hand down Castiel’s back, cupping his buttcheek. “Honk,” he said, squeezing.

Castiel coughed out a laugh, leaning back. He stared at Dean, eyes narrowed. “Thank you,” he said in disdain. “That was _very_ necessary.”

He proceeded to extricate himself from Dean’s embrace, turning away.

Dean watched him go. Head down, lost in thoughts he didn’t quite understand, he followed.

-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . ♥ \-- .- --. .. -.-. .- .-..

At the heart of the museum, there was a crossroads of faux cobblestones. It most prominently featured a large fountain, a circular pool of aquamarine water, usually spouting four arcs of water from its centre. It was switched off for the night. Palm fronds grew in planters at the four compass corners, each corner facing in a new path around the building.

Castiel never missed the opportunity to sit down here; by midnight he’d be hungry, and there was always a vending machine left running just for him.

White café tables and matching chairs were arranged near the fountain, but Castiel bypassed those, opting to sit lower, and closer, his back to the fountain, legs stretched out in front of him.

He looked up, as he always did. A glass dome was moonlit above him, the night sky silhouetted by a horizontal clock made of raw cogs and wheels, fitting the dome’s circumference exactly. The shadow of its javelin hands were cast upon the cobblestones. Castiel looked down, and could confirm it was midnight exactly. Right on schedule.

Dean arrived at the crossroads a full four minutes after Castiel had finished using the facilities, as well as retrieved some coffee and two sandwiches from the vending machine.

Dean sat heavily on the edge of the fountain, fatigue pulling at his face.

Castiel gave him a smug smile.

“Oh, fuck off,” Dean said. “I ain’t asleep yet.”

Castiel’s smile turned sympathetic, and he handed over a sandwich.

Dean looked at it, then smirked. “I made this! This afternoon.”

“I do believe you’ve made my midnight snack every day since you began working here,” Castiel said. “I should say thank you.”

Dean peeled back the protective wrapper, smirking. “Damn right.” He pulled up his sandwich and took a big bite, eyes closed, shoulders slumping. “Mmm, food.”

They ate in peace. This place was serene when it was empty. Like Paradise, perhaps. Castiel thought himself lucky to know of a place so spectacular, permitted to own it every night. The museum was very much a palace – and though he was here to provide a service, a duty, there was no rule against enjoying himself.

When they’d both finished eating, Castiel raised his still-steaming coffee cup to his lips, drinking it in silence. Once he’d had a few sips, he passed the cup to Dean.

Dean warmed his hands on the polystyrene, staring into the steam. He sipped, clearly taking comfort from the hot liquid. His grip was too big around such a tiny cup, but he held onto it like it was precious.

As they sat, Castiel turned to watch the still waters of the fountain ripple occasionally when invisible things disturbed the surface. He listened to Dean swallowing, and allowed him to keep the cup, drinking most of what was there.

It took several minutes before Castiel wondered if Dean was simply tired, or if he was... upset. Castiel had seen him fatigued in the past – he was the sort who’d complain about it, and loudly. Right now he was quiet. Brooding.

“You all right?” Castiel asked, reaching to touch Dean’s knee briefly.

Dean swallowed, eyes trained on the spot he’d been touched. “Yeah,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Castiel rolled a shoulder, moving to lean his elbows on his thighs, hands together. He turned his face to watch Dean carefully. “You haven’t said a whole lot to me since we danced.”

An expression of panic flickered across Dean’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived. “Just tired.”

Now Castiel _knew_ Dean was hiding something. He wouldn’t admit he was halfway to defeat if there was a breakfast bet on the line.

Castiel swallowed. He didn’t know how to move the conversation forward.

“Cas—” Dean’s eyes shifted to Castiel’s waist, and his breath caught twice before he could continue. “Look, I— I’m sorry.”

“For—”

“For grabbing your ass. Cheapening the moment.” Dean spoke with both shame and great conviction, eyes finally rising to meet Castiel’s. “I always fuck up. Guess I’m not the most... emotionally mature guy. Just somethin’ else I gotta work on.” He inhaled, sitting up straighter. He tipped the coffee cup, sipped once more, then offered it, almost-empty, to Castiel.

Castiel took a moment to let Dean’s apology sink in. Only when he was sure Dean really meant it did he reach to accept the cup, taking it and downing the final sip.

“Cas?”

Castiel looked up under the brim of his peaked cap, seeing Dean’s cautious eyes staring back, their usual green shade stolen away by the moonlight.

“Are we good?” Dean asked. He looked worried.

Castiel tilted his head, setting the empty cup upon the cobblestones. “I can get you back,” he suggested, kindly. “Neutralise the offence, if you will.” He winked.

Dean smirked back, unexpectedly. “Y-You mean—?”

Castiel separated his lips with the tip of his tongue, playful eyes on Dean’s freckled cheeks. “You grab me, I grab you right back.”

Dean stared. His eyes had darkened, although Castiel wasn’t sure if he was self-aware enough to know.

Without waiting for Dean’s vocal agreement, trusting simply in his body’s signals, Castiel slid his hand between Dean’s thighs. Dean moved his own arm out of the way to let him.

Castiel placed his palm on Dean’s crotch. Immediately, Dean gasped in silence, mouth going slack. With eyes downturned, his thighs sank apart, and his hands flew out to grip the edge of the fountain. Castiel had done nothing but place a hand against him, yet he felt a hefty twitch of Dean’s penis through his jeans. Shocked, Castiel’s eyes lifted to Dean’s, only to see that Dean had shut his eyes, eyebrows up, his face a mask of astonished bliss.

Unsure how to react, Castiel did what he’d intended to do: he squeezed. “Honk.”

Dean tensed – flinched, almost – and although Castiel removed his hand quickly, he wasn’t fast enough to miss the second pulse in Dean’s jeans. Castiel returned his hand to his own thigh, wondering if he’d gone too far. Dean gripped his own crotch now, looking at himself. Castiel observed his moment of realisation. He was aroused. Dean’s eyes shot to Castiel’s, and they stared, both seemingly unsure.

Dean’s gaze lowered. “I-I-I gotta—” He stood up suddenly, staggering a few steps out and walking straight into a café chair, sending it into a bizarre tangle of metal limbs across the cobblestones. The racket echoed down all four pathways, loud like thunder.

Dean had frozen, shoulders tense near his ears.

Castiel got up. He went to Dean’s side, hand on his shoulder. And he went past, bent to pick up the chair, and put it back where it was meant to be.

Without meeting Dean’s eyes, Castiel turned back around, touching Dean’s shoulder again, this time with the other hand.

“I think I should go home,” Dean whispered. “I’m a mess.”

Castiel let the words fade to nothing, and their meaning start to seem peculiar, before he replied. “Stay.”

Dean bowed his head. “Okay.”

Oh, this was too easy. He’d been searching for reasons to linger. Just knowing Castiel wanted him there was enough.

Castiel smiled. “Want to hear something funny?”

Dean followed Castiel back to the fountain’s edge, relaxing as he sensed Castiel’s change of tone. “Yeah. What?”

“What do you call a bee having a bad hair day?” Castiel asked, smirking as he spoke.

Dean snorted. “Alright, that’s it, I’m leaving.” He got up, but stilled when Castiel grabbed his wrist, laughing.

Chuckling, Dean sat back down. “Fine. Whatever. What _do_ you call a bee having a bad hair day?”

Castiel could barely keep his smile contained, as he replied, “A _frizz_ bee.”

Dean groaned loudly, head in his hands. But he snickered anyway – his shoulders were shaking, and that made Castiel feel incredibly relieved.

When Dean looked up, exhaling, there was something akin to relief in his eyes too.

They shared a smile, and though Dean was embarrassed, they managed to set the night’s wrongs behind them.

“Come on, let’s move,” Castiel suggested. “Usually I take the West exit now, then come back and do the whole route again, but... we’ll go slower. We can finish up this first circle, ending back at the atrium. It’s no fun if you can’t keep up.”

While Dean tossed the sandwich packets and empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can, then excused himself to the men’s room, Castiel sat comfortably at the edge of the fountain, contemplating Dean’s reaction to a single touch.

The man was clearly plagued by lust. Castiel couldn’t imagine how his security guard’s uniform could have so much effect, but the evidence was unavoidable. Perhaps it ought to have made Castiel uncomfortable to be reduced to a living mannequin, filling out the seams of Dean’s fetish, but somehow... it felt exciting.

If this was a power he had, regarding Dean, he’d take it. No doubt the contentment would not last forever, but for now, he was consciously okay with being sexualised. He knew Dean loved him as a close friend under the suit; that made the lust bearable. Amusing, even. Watching Dean get visibly flustered over a simple change of clothing was always going to be funny.

Dean took longer in the bathroom than Castiel expected. He came out looking like he was trying _too hard_ to act normal, if Castiel had to guess.

But Castiel could only imagine why Dean kept slipping his hand into his pocket to adjust himself as they walked. At one point, in the room of vintage American cars, Castiel remarked, “You’re walking strangely. Is your penis sitting wrong? Do you need a moment? I won’t look.”

But Dean only replied, “I’m fine, Cas. Hey, look— ‘67 Impala. Just like my baby! Man, this was always my favourite exhibit.”

Castiel let Dean have an extra fifteen minutes in that exhibit. He’d rarely seen Dean so enraptured. He read every plaque, looked at every photograph, and leaned on every rope barrier, trying to get as close as he could without touching the displays.

While Dean appreciated the exhibit, Castiel’s mind turned to related things. Little model cars were available for purchase in the museum gift shop, mounted and displayed inside protective glass cases. They were professionally made collectors’ items, about as big as a man’s spread hand – quite weighty, with PU leather seats and extremely detailed dashboards. Dean tended to turn his nose up at them – “ _Kids’ toys,_ ” he’d mutter, before looking away – but as Castiel was thoroughly confirming tonight, Dean most enjoyed the things he claimed he didn’t enjoy at all. Maybe tomorrow Castiel would have a surprise gift for him. He wanted to make Dean smile the way he did when he talked about cars.

Though Castiel shied away from his thoughts at first, they kept returning.

Perhaps...

No, it was too much to hope for...

Deep down, Castiel really wanted Dean to love him as much as he loved his vintage car. He wanted the simple mention of his name to light up Dean’s eyes, and for Dean to be so drawn to him that he couldn’t leave when it was time to leave. He wanted Dean to think he was sexy even when the uniform came off.

But most of all, Castiel wanted to be loved singularly, as Dean’s one and only. He was certainly loved now, but there were always women Dean would rather bed, or date. Despite his blindingly obvious desire to see Castiel show off his uniform paraphernalia in a seductive manner, Dean had never once asked if he could pleasure Castiel, not even as a test to see if they’d like it. Nor had he asked him on a real date, with clear romantic intentions.

Dean left the car exhibit with his eyes glazed, a smile on his lips, shaking his head. He stepped into a moonlit corridor with a Perspex roof and vines all around, and he said quietly to Castiel, “They’re beautiful cars, y’know? They all are. All worthy of the best. But my baby’s better. ‘Cause she’s mine. Ain’t no make and model as perfect as her, not to me.”

The desire was no longer buried deep down. Castiel _craved_ it. It hurt how much he wanted Dean to think of him like that, too.

-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . ♥ .- -- .- --.. .. -. --.

“Wait wait wait, I’ve got one,” Dean laughed, twirling his blinking flashlight so it turned the corridor into a disco party. “Cas, wait up.”

Castiel had gone ahead, swiping in his keycard to enter the most highly-protected unit of the museum, the 1920s exhibit. Fancy vintage jewellery was displayed in the same glass cases seen all over, this time arranged in a grid, with space to walk between them. The dim lights inside the cases flickered to life as Castiel entered, with Dean bringing up the rear.

“Cas, get this,” Dean said, holding up a finger. “Why does a chicken coop have two doors?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, looking at Dean, then looking around the room, checking between plinths to see if there was any lost property or unusually conspicuous cat burglars. “Well,” Castiel began, “as far as I’m aware, many chicken coops only have one door. Two would make it drafty.”

Dean huffed. “For the sake of the joke, Cas, say there’s two.”

“Is this one of those ‘why did the chicken cross the road’ jokes?”

“No.” Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Okay, then,” Castiel said, pausing to admire his favourite artifact, a thick silver necklace, shimmering with white gems. The way it draped made it look like a pair of wings. He moved onward, replying, “Why _does_ a chicken coop have two doors?”

“Because if it had four doors it’d be a chicken sedan,” Dean grinned. He mimed a drumset, “Ba-dum- _tiss_!”

Castiel squinted.

“Oh come _on_ ,” Dean growled, clawed hands grasped imploringly towards the dark ceiling. “Don’t you know anything about cars?”

“Enough to know you’d rather date your car than a real human person.”

Dean blew a wet raspberry. “That ain’t true.” He went quiet for a bit, then nudged his arm up against Castiel’s. “A two-door car’s called a coupe, Cas. Coupe. _Coop_. Get it? Get it? Huh?”

Castiel threw Dean a dull look. “Very funny. Ha, ha.” He did smile, but he didn’t feel the need to laugh.

“Ugh, you’re such a...” Dean pressed his lips together, at a loss for words. But, rather than claim Castiel was no fun whatsoever, he apparently decided to prove otherwise. He jumped into Castiel’s path, one hand slapping the museum’s emblem embroidered on Castiel’s bicep. “Tag, you’re it.”

“Dean—”

Dean ran off, chuckling.

“The sugar finally got to you, I see,” Castiel called into the dark. He lifted his flashlight, pointing it down the row of jewellery cases. He saw Dean glance back, giggle, then duck behind a plinth.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel went after him, moving as casually as he dared. But when he reached where Dean was meant to be, Dean was gone. Flashlight up, Castiel looked around, calling, “Dean?”

Dean whistled from somewhere else.

Despite himself, Castiel felt a small smile tug at his lips. He lowered his flashlight, switched it off, and stowed it in his belt. He reached to lift the cap on his head, replacing it more comfortably. And then he dropped to his knees, crawling on the floor in silence.

He listened for Dean.

A mere shuffle.

Then, quietly... “Cas?”

Castiel stayed silent and still, poised with one foot firmly on the floor, the other perched on its toes, like he was ready to start in an Olympic race.

He heard approaching bootsteps. Closer. Closer.

“Cas?”

Dean emerged, back to Castiel, turning around, in search of Castiel’s face. Castiel pounced.

Dean yelped, bumping into a glass case. He only nudged it, but they both gasped— Waiting... Waiting...

“No screeching alarm,” Dean said, bemused. “No flashing red lights?”

Castiel reached for his belt, wanting to check with Donna, but Dean grinned and shoved his chest. “Tag back.”

And he ran off.

Castiel raised the radio to his lips. “Three-three-oh-one to front desk. If you got some kind of red alert just now, that was an accident. There’s no problem. Over.”

Donna took a while to reply. “ _Well, heck, there’s no alarm going at my end. All I’m seeing are cat videos and empty hallways on the monitor,_ ” Donna said. “ _Go back to doing whatever you were doing before you messed up, eh, soldier? I’ve got ya covered._ ”

Castiel’s eyes went to the security camera in the corner of the room. The lens peered apathetically at him.

Feeling a flutter of excitement, Castiel went after Dean.

Realising Castiel was after him, Dean laughed and scooted off back the way they’d come, dodging plinths and side-stepping down the walkways. He changed direction when Castiel came up in parallel, but halted, grinning widely, both of them stuck either side of a collection of wedding rings.

They bounded one way. Stopped. Then back the other way.

Dean was the first to break away – he feinted in one direction, bolted in the other, and it took Castiel a few moments to go after him.

They sprinted the length of the room, laughing happily, Castiel a mere leap and a bound behind Dean, almost close enough to grab the tail of his plaid shirt as it flagged out in his wake.

With a grunt of exertion, Castiel caught Dean around the waist just a handful of strides before they ran face-first into the doors; Dean laughed so joyously, folded forward as Castiel hugged him from behind, both stumbling together. They bumped the locked doors, Dean straightening to turn around.

Out of breath, they held each other’s gaze, hands grasping waists, exhales floating hot against their throats. Dean’s smile was shaken, his eyes bright. He rested his back gently against the doors, eyes on Castiel’s, chin held down submissively.

The moment slowed.

This wasn’t slow motion. This was a heartbeat pounding too fast; this was a normal human reaction to great events, like panic, or immense fear – or acute exhilaration. Castiel’s mind became impossibly precise, accepting more information in a single second than he usually did in three. It was not slow motion, but it felt exactly like it. Only one thing happened, but Castiel experienced it in perfect detail.

Dean leaned in for a kiss.

Warm hands brought Castiel’s waist closer. Knees interlocked, shoes interlocked. Dean’s eyes were half-closed, long eyelashes splayed out. Lips parted, reddened with excitement.

Castiel saw everything. Felt everything. He experienced the full range of human emotion – but most pointedly: anticipation.

He was therefore caught out when Dean stopped short. Hot breath puffed onto Castiel’s lips; the heat of Dean’s skin washed against his cheeks. Castiel tasted Dean’s saliva in the vapour; he smelt coffee on his lips, saw his freckles faded by the light from the glass cases.

Dean didn’t just stop. He _froze_.

And he pushed Castiel away with his hand against his heart, chuckling like _he’d_ been the one to lean in, like it was a weird joke that Castiel was taking a little too far.

“Dude,” Dean said, running his hand over his arousal-swollen lips. “Personal space.”

Castiel just gazed at him, knowing Dean couldn’t possibly be that dense. They both knew Dean was the one who leaned in. No way in hell was Castiel going to let Dean give him the blame, not for failure, and certainly not for an unwanted success. Castiel strengthened his gaze.

Dean, still backed against the door, gulped. His mouth fell open, a small intake of breath illustrating his understanding.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, eyes lowered and shifting in distress.

Taking pity on him, Castiel approached again, one hand on Dean’s shoulder, sliding up to cup the back of his neck. Their hips didn’t touch, but they came close. Castiel turned his head, trying to meet Dean’s eyes.

Dean’s eyelids fluttered, and his forehead creased for a moment. When his eyes rose, he locked eyes with Castiel and said, with semi-confidence: “I-It’s the uniform. ‘S gotta be.” He shook his head.

Castiel looked down at himself. His uniform consisted of just a navy-blue shirt and pants. Granted, there were buttoned pockets on the breast, and the tough cotton was pressed neatly, not crumpled like Dean’s overshirt, but there was nothing especially arousing about the ensemble. The hat and utility belt were the most interesting things about it.

Dean was looking down at Castiel the same way, but clearly came to the opposite conclusion. His breath had gone fluttery, his cheeks dark, and when he looked at Castiel again, there was unbridled lust _burning_ in his eyes. Castiel had never once been wanted that badly.

On a shaking breath, Dean whispered, “Fuck me.”

Oh, those dark, hungry eyes. Shock chilled Castiel top to toe.

Dean blinked twice, then pushed Castiel away again. “Uh— I mean. I mean—”

Dean was shaking. There were tears in his eyes. “Shit. Shitshitshit.” He covered his face with both hands. “Cas, I dunno— I dunno what’s goin’ on, I’m fuckin’ messed up, it’s like one in the morning—”

“One-forty,” Castiel corrected.

“—I haven’t eaten anythin’ except for three donuts, and some of your chocolate almonds, and coffee, and the luncheon meat and salad and cashews in the sandwich, and a vending machine flapjack—”

“Dean, that’s more than a reasonable amount—”

“That’s not the point,” Dean complained, parting his hands and looking imploringly at Castiel. “I wanna bang you so _bad_. I’m _shaking_ , and I almost came in my pants when you touched me before— I’m— Please.” He put his hands together, begging, “Please, can we forget this ever happened. Pretend I’m drunk. Sleep deprivation – same as being drunk, right? Don’t drive drunk? Don’t go on a friggin’ all-night museum quest drunk!”

Castiel was absolutely unconvinced that Dean was just... sleepy. This wasn’t sleep deprivation. Most nights he wasn’t even in _bed_ at this time of night. Nor was he anywhere close to starving. If anything, Dean was functioning at his best. So why the over-exaggeration?

And if he wanted to have sex so badly, why wasn’t he asking for it? Why the resistance?

Castiel looked at Dean carefully. Calculatingly. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, turning his head.

Dean swallowed, then swallowed again. Fear was definitely present in his eyes.

There was no answer Dean could give. He pushed off the door and snuck past Castiel, folding his arms, head down. “Just get us outta here, Cas. You got a job to do, remember.”

He waited until Castiel gave in and opened up the doors to the next room before he moved an inch.

-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . ♥ \--. . -. . .-. --- ..- ...

Dean jumped when his cellphone buzzed. “What?” he said, fumbling to pull the thing into his hand. The vibration was so loud that the museum walls seemed to buzz too. “Sammy, what—”

Thumb jabbing the screen, Dean held the phone up at arm’s length. His face split into a grin as he saw Sam’s fiancée’s smiling face peering out at him. “Heeyyy,” Dean grinned, voice rough. “How’s it hanging, Eileen?”

“ _Oh, pretty good,_ ” Eileen said. Her words came out over-pronounced and nasal, as she couldn’t hear her own voice. “ _What time is it for you?_ ”

Dean flailed one arm sideways, grabbing Castiel and pulling him closer. Batting at Castiel’s wrist, Dean dragged up Cas’ watch. “Two...” Dean tilted his head, “seventeen.” He lifted his face again and repeated it so Eileen could read his lips. “Two seventeen – why the hell you calling this late?”

Sam bent into the frame, his long hair upside-down. “ _Hey,_ ” he croaked, too cheerfully. He moved to sit on the couch next to Eileen, and their squished-together shoulders took up the screen.

“Heya, little brother. Timezones exist, you know,” Dean complained.

Castiel waved at Sam and Eileen, adding, “Good thing Dean stayed late with me tonight, or you’d be witnessing the ‘I-just-got-into-bed-how-dare-you-call-me’ apocalypse. As a first-hand witness, I find Dean to be a absolute grouch when he’s _had_ sleep...”

Sam laughed, tossing an arm behind Eileen’s back. “ _Oh, I know that one,_ ” Eileen chuckled. “ _Do_ not _disturb, those four hours of beauty sleep are very, very important._ ”

Castiel’s grin was a bit too knowing. Dean elbowed him, making him grunt and carry on laughing in silence.

“Anyway, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Dean asked.

“ _Couple things. Your friend Benny called,_ ” Eileen said, leaning forward. “ _He’s going to get you tickets to his opening night performance of_ Les Misérables _. He wanted to check with Sam and I, to make sure we’d be able to come before he booked them._ ”

Dean grinned, and glanced at Castiel to see him smiling too, but not much.

“How many tickets is he reserving for our group?” Dean asked, trying not to sound worried.

Eileen glanced at Sam. Sam leaned forward to reply, “ _Four. Us two, you, and whoever you’d like to take._ ”

Dean gulped, looking at Castiel again. He’d perked up, looking hopeful. Now Dean smiled fully again.

“ _Won’t that be fun,_ ” Eileen remarked, pretending to do up her wavy hair in a fancy bun atop her head like a Southern belle, turning her face to the side, eyes closed, “ _Get all dressed up for the theatre, and cheer for the Louisiana version of Javert!_ ” She laughed, folding over her lap.

Castiel hummed a jumpy laugh, then remarked, “Benny was incredibly well cast.”

“ _Eileen and I are going to have to fly over,_ ” Sam smiled. “ _May as well make an occasion of it. You know, come to think of it, this outing could make a pretty good double-date,_ ” he said, a little too pointedly. “ _Dean, out of curiosity, is there anyone you have in mind for your plus-one?_ ”

Dean lowered his chin, hoping Castiel could field this one. Castiel responded easily: “There’s a pretty waitress who works in the diner across the road from our museum. I think he’s had his eye on her for some time—”

“Dude, stop,” Dean interrupted, sticking a finger over Castiel’s pouting lips. “I’m takin’ you, and it’s not a fuckin’ date, so shut your face.”

“ _Such a pottymouth, Dean,_ ” Eileen complained, then laughed with Sam. “ _Anyway, that’s why we called. The other thing was— Oh, Sam, you explain._ ”

Sam cleared his throat. “ _Okay. Dean, you know Bobby’s wife, Karen?_ ”

Dean grinned. “Duh. She taught me half of what I know about pies.” He added, for Castiel’s benefit, “Seriously, whenever me and Sam stayed with ol’ Bobby as kids, Karen was right there, asking for my help in the kitchen, making pies all day, every day. That lady’s pure class, as well.”

“ _Yeah, and on that note,_ ” Sam nodded, “ _she finally emailed me back, and she’s talking about purchasing a business, about an hour’s drive over from your apartment. Like, a proper Michelin-star restaurant. And she’s looking for a Director of Baking and Pastry Arts. Part-time position._ ”

Dean was already shaking his head. “I have a job. Sounds awesome, but no.”

“ _Just check out her Twitter account, would you?_ ” Sam insisted. “ _She’s running a competition. Best pastry-based dessert gets an interview._ ”

“Dean, you could enter your cherry pie,” Castiel said quietly.

“No!” Dean frowned. “Guys, I’m happy where I am, all right? I’ve got three awards under my belt, if I wanted another one I’d go get it. I can’t go be Director of Baking with an old family friend if I’m putting dinosaurs feathers on a pie crust. The kids love those things.”

Smoothly, Eileen pointed out, “ _Children do eat at restaurants, Dean. Sometimes they order pie._ ”

Dean huffed. “Look. Maybe someday. But right now? I’m _happy_. Quit trying to drag me outta my box, I like my box.” With a deep breath inside him, he contained his frustration and exhaled it out. “Was that all, or—?”

Eileen shrugged. “ _Have you got time to talk for longer, or are you busy?_ ”

“Sure, we got all night,” Dean said, but glanced at Castiel when he saw him hesitate. “No?”

Castiel subtly shook his head.

“Apparently not,” Dean reiterated to his audience. “Cas had got rounds to do, guess he’s got a point. I’m slowing him down enough already, I’m gonna end up tripping over some damn Rosetta Stone replica if I walk around with my phone up.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, “ _Why are you at the museum, by the way? So late at night? Some sort of party?_ ”

“Could say that,” Dean grinned lopsidedly. “Nah. Just, uh.” He pursed his lips, trying to hide his smile. “Just spendin’ some good quality time with the world’s best night watchman.”

Castiel made a shy noise, his smile awkward and beaming.

“ _Ooohhh, I get it,_ ” Eileen said slowly. “ _He’s got the uniform on._ ”

“ _What?_ ” Sam asked, looking her way.

Eileen leaned up to his ear, covering her mouth from sight as she whispered to him. Dean felt chills sink down his spine, but he was past the point of caring. Sam knew every other damn detail about him, one more fact about Dean’s personal interests was barely even a buoy pegged onto the iceberg.

Sam sank away from Eileen’s lips with a stunned expression. “Oh.”

Dean gulped, eyes shifting to Castiel. Castiel was blushing. But he was also smiling like he was thoroughly pleased, which was beyond relieving. Dean let out a shaken breath.

“Okay,” Dean said, in a small voice. “I’ve had enough of this. See you two lovebirds later.”

“ _Same to you two,_ ” Sam said, grinning.

Dean made a throaty noise in protest, but finished, “I’ll keep your tickets safe for you until you get here. Not that _either_ of you deserve them.”

“Dean,” Castiel scolded. “Don’t be such a prick. They worked hard setting up their online school for deaf children, of course they deserve a break.”

“Pff!” Dean retorted. “Cas, c’mon. Obviously I’m kidding. These two are freaking _saints_. What am I gonna do, be nice to them all the time? Suck dicks, you sunshine freaks. Talk tomorrow.”

“ _Have a good night, you two,_ ” Eileen called, both she and Sam waving before Dean ended the call.

Snuffling a laugh, Dean bent his head forward, closing the video call app. “Man. I miss them.”

“Me too,” Castiel nodded. “I’m going to wear a bow tie.”

“Wuh?” Dean glanced up.

“As your not-date to the theatre,” Castiel explained. “I’m going to wear a bow tie. I’ve been saving it for a... not-date.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead in resignation as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Well, it ain’t a sexy uniform, but I’ll see what I can make of it.”

Castiel smirked. “I’m sure you’ll find something about it to appreciate.”

And with that, he took Dean gently by the arm, guiding him on to the next exhibit.

-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . ♥ .-.. ..- -.-. -.- -.--

Three o’clock in the morning came and went. The night was nearing its end, in the sense that the moon had set, and the dawn was only hours away. Castiel still had almost three hours left on his shift. If the night was not young, it was middle-aged, perhaps. It was leaving the kids behind and taking an impromptu trip to Maui, as Dean so vividly put it.

On most nights, Castiel would go around the museum twice. But tonight, Castiel had all but forgotten his purpose. He’d stopped checking in with Donna, and he’d stopped feeling guilty for it whenever he remembered. For tonight, his purpose was to love Dean’s company, and to share his happiness.

They’d talked for... hours. They’d done so in the past, too, but tonight they spoke a bit more freely, about things they had no reason to discuss over pie at the end of a daytime work shift. Walking alone through dark halls, hearing their breathy laughs echo along with muttered secrets, it seemed easy to share.

Dean’s flickering flashlight beam settled upon Castiel’s face, putting him under the spotlight, and with a laugh and a shoving hand, Castiel would push the light out of his eyes. But he’d still confess.

“This _is_ the thing I’m proudest of,” Castiel insisted, ignoring Dean’s teasing. “Until I got this job I hadn’t been able to hold one down.” He lowered his chin, lips pressed together. “I’m good at following instructions. Not so good at customer service. Somehow it’s easier here than it was elsewhere.”

“So what you’re saying,” Dean said, rolling the flashlight back and forth in his hand, “is that folding t-shirts is actually the best part of your day.”

Castiel smirked. “It’s the least harrowing part of my day.” His eyes turned softly to Dean. “When you come by, that’s the best part.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. He held Castiel’s eye for some time, then smiled and ducked his head. “Yeah. Same.”

“Really?”

“What, you shocked I’d admit it? I worked for _years_ to make the perfect pastry, and I mastered that. These days I live my life in a comfort zone. Only time I get a thrill is when my brother stays over and stuffs glitter in my car’s AC as a prank – or when you... y’know, get all flirty or whatever.”

Castiel chuckled, walking backwards as he led Dean around a corner, heading for the last segment of the museum, where they displayed various oddities and big collections of small things. He didn’t take his eyes off Dean.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” Dean mumbled, eyes turned away, smiling and flustered. “Yeah, I like girls, big deal. Don’t tell me it doesn’t give you a rush when we get handsy. That’s why we _do_ it.”

“Is that why you do it?” Castiel asked, eyebrows up.

Dean glanced at him. “Why do you flirt with _me_?”

“Because I’m madly in love with you,” Castiel said.

“Right,” Dean said, eyes ahead, flashlight beam swooping down so he could see down off a circular balcony, peering into a collection of lush plants that looked spooky in the dark.

“Why do you flirt?” Castiel asked. “Do you really only like me for my uniform?” he pried, with over-exaggerated bitterness.

Dean’s grin flashed up on one side of his face. “You know that ain’t it, Cas,” he said, softly. “You’re one of my closest pals. Uniform’s just a sexy bonus.”

“Is that so?”

Dean swallowed, smile fading as he got lost in thought for a while.

“How did it start?” Castiel asked, nudging his shoulder against Dean’s. “Your uniform fetish, I mean.”

Dean’s mouth slid open. “Oh. Uh. I dunno...”

“When do you first remember seeing a uniform?”

Dean blinked twice, then chuckled. “My dad’s. He came home from the army when I was a toddler – first time I met him, actually. I just remember this tall, imposing-kinda guy, dressed up in green, shrouded with morning light. Bent down, picked me up, held me against his chest. For a couple months we – bonded, I guess. He’d show me all his medals at bedtime.”

Castiel listened, fascinated at how that a memory that innocent could develop into something so sexually-charged.

“Like I said— I told you before, right?” When Castiel nodded, Dean went on, “Yeah. Dad was enlisted again. Never came back. Got our letter in the mail.” Dean shrugged, like the loss didn’t bother him. But Castiel knew he treasured his father’s Purple Heart medal more than all but one of his possessions. Only his car had greater value to him.

“Then—” Dean started, with a small breath, like realisation hit him. “Cub scouts.” He grinned. “I used to spank the other boys with my scarf. Actually, uh—” He broke off, lowering his flashlight as recollection distracted him. “Damn. I’d forgotten...”

“What?” Castiel prompted.

Dean hesitated, nervous eyes flicking to meet Castiel’s, then back to his feet to watch where they were going, descending a staircase. “My first orgasm. Self-induced, I mean. Storage closet, back of the hall the scouts had our meetings. I was meant to be tidying up. Tennis rackets, ropes for knotting, crap like that. And lost-property uniforms.”

Castiel felt a perfect balance of discomfort and fascination. He said nothing; if Dean wanted to elaborate, Castiel would let him.

“Um,” Dean said, clearly embarrassed. “I was like, eight. God knows why – there were silks scarves in there too. Maybe it’s that edge between soft and tough that does it for me.” His eyes settled on Castiel’s utility belt. “Other boys used to bully me, back then. Pushed me around, called me names.”

“I got that too,” Castiel said sadly.

“Yeah?” Dean eased against Castiel’s side, offering comfort as the floor levelled out. “What for? I always thought you would’ve been a pretty normal kid.”

“Children don’t need a reason to bully, just excuses,” Castiel said, avoiding Dean’s gaze. “I once told a close friend I didn’t think I was a boy. Surprise-surprise, he told everyone. I never heard the end of it.”

“Wow.” Dean’s fingers touched Castiel’s empty hand. “Kids can be real dicks, huh?”

“To be fair, there are a lot of jokes to make,” Castiel said, with a tense smile. “When I wasn’t aware of exact terminology, I said I was sexless. That, of course, led to many questions and investigations into whether or not I had anything ‘down there’. I said ‘neuter’, inviting a slew of comments asking if I’d been spayed like a cat. Gender-fluid, gender-neutral, agender, non-binary— There’s a lot of people who’d rather educate you on how human biology works as a binary rather than actually acknowledging how your experience differs. My parents were very concerned.”

Dean pressed his lower lip upward, acknowledging silently.

Castiel sighed. “I want to put it behind me. I’m sure they all developed into reasonable people. I hope if they ever do come to understand the concept, they’ll remember me and realise they were wrong.”

“You’re way kinder than you have to be, Cas,” Dean said, pleasantly. He pushed Castiel roughly with his shoulder, making him laugh and bump the nearest wall. “Love that about you.”

Castiel, feeling brighter now, fell back in step with Dean. They entered the final hallway, where collections of antique doorknobs lined the blue walls, each described with a plaque. Windows on the far left opened up to the night sky, and other buildings poked up between the treetops, all the lights off. Castiel aimed his flashlight up the wall, admiring the peculiar display.

“Hey... Cas?” Dean touched Castiel’s wrist, slowing him, then bringing him to a halt. Castiel turned his light to Dean’s heart, seeing it reflect off his t-shirt and illuminate the base of his stubbled chin, the tip of his nose, and the soft-looking flare of his eyelashes. His lips parted, and a humid breath escaped, floating across to Castiel’s face.

“So,” Dean said, blinking, “you’re not a girl. And you’re not a dude.”

Castiel felt a spike of annoyance, but resisted the urge to storm off simply because Dean looked so fragile. “What part escapes your understanding, Dean?”

“Don’t snipe at me,” Dean said, frowning, head down. His eyes shone gold in the light as he glanced up again. “Look, I’m just trying to figure something out. About me, not about you.”

He licked his lips wet. “Cas— God, I dunno how to say this.” He shifted on his feet, then stated, outright, in a breath, “Cas? Honest-to-God, I don’t mean to objectify you, but I gotta go above board here. You’re— You’re smokin’ hot to me. Alright? I was thinking earlier, right before we danced, and I got scared – you’re fucking _gorgeous_.” He exhaled in relief, “Dammit, I said it. I said it.” He shut his eyes, turmoil in his expression.

“Listen...” Dean clutched the tufts of hair atop his head, frowning. “I got pre-come in my pants when you touched me before, by the fountain. I seriously thought I came for real. Yeah, I know, it felt _that_ good. I dunno if I’m off-the-charts horny, or what, but one touch from you?” He clicked his fingers, eyes darting away. “I’m gone.”

Castiel’s stomach was doing flips. He felt static under his skin, spirals of electricity circling him from the top down.

“Cas, I never—” Dean gulped, then met Castiel’s eyes. “I never consciously liked anyone... like you.”

Words sticky in his mouth, Castiel asked, “Like me in what way?”

Dean spread his arms, then clapped them back to his sides. “Every way. The sarcasm, the honest criticism of my baking. The jaw stubble, the hip muscles. The agender thing. The asexual thing. The way you’re always sweet, and _nice_ , and then some days you come storming into my kitchen, sending things flying, all growly and demanding and furious about whatever world issue got you riled up that day.”

“What’s your point,” Castiel uttered, feeling surprisingly vulnerable, despite this being Dean’s reveal, not his.

Dean sighed forcefully, fist over his mouth. “This is gonna sound weak. I know it is. Another one of my chick flick moments. But. I kinda— I’m losin’ myself in you. I thought I knew who I _was_ , Cas. Everything that defined me up until I met you, I don’t know where it’s gone. You’re _none_ of the things I like. And yet—?” He gestured at Castiel, shaking his head. “Here you are. How can I not be afraid of that? I’m so comfortable around you it scares me, because I start sayin’ things I’d never say. Things I don’t wanna _admit_. Not even to myself.”

Dean had to turn his face, breathing hard, very quickly forcing himself to come to terms with what he’d just said. “You’re screwin’ me up, man,” he chuckled, shaking his head, gratitude and despair both gleaming in his eyes.

Even when Dean met Castiel’s gaze again, Castiel had still not fully processed his statement.

“I needed to say something, that’s all,” Dean said shyly. “Before this amazing night ended and I start to regret keeping my mouth shut. You asked what I’m afraid of, and this is it.”

Castiel wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been informed of. They’d both already known Dean harboured a great deal of lust for Castiel in his uniform. And it was no secret that there was something romantic between them, even though they didn’t talk about it. Was _that_ what this was about? Or was Castiel’s existence simply the catalyst for Dean’s own sexuality-related breakthrough, which in fact had nothing to do with him?

“People change, Dean,” Castiel said, finding it to be the easiest reply. “You don’t have to fear self-growth.”

Dean scoffed. “It’s not about that. Don’t worry about it,” he said, touching Castiel’s arm and moving past him. He clicked Donna’s flashlight back on, pointing it at the doorknobs so he could see them.

Castiel exhaled, trying to settle his adrenaline. He’d been so ready for Dean to move onward, to move past the confessions and get to proving his words true. Frankly, Castiel didn’t need to be told he was loved; he knew it. Dean wouldn’t be here tonight if their friendship wasn’t as long-worked-for, hardy, and transparent as a diamond.

They didn’t have secrets from each other. They only had truths unknown to themselves.

If Dean couldn’t speak about it, then he really didn’t know.

He didn’t know Castiel wanted him too.

Castiel stared after Dean, not moving, watching his flickering flashlight roam the displays, then sweep across the herringbone pine flooring, over to the grand piano on a raised dais, with lead-latticed windows behind. Castiel was dumbfounded. It wasn’t as if he’d never _told_ Dean he loved him. Only minutes ago the words had slipped from his lips. Dean must not have believed it. Didn’t understand. _Couldn’t_ understand.

Maybe Castiel had never made it clear that his love included a vein of sexuality. Maybe Dean’s resistance was his own fault. _Lack of communication._

However, all of Castiel’s plans to spill his heart out soon went up in a distracted puff of smoke.

“Dean!” Castiel strode forward, ire bristling under his skin. “Do _not_ touch the exhibits. Are you a child? Can’t you read the sign?”

Dean sheepishly removed his hand from an interesting octagonal doorknob fastened to the wall. “Hey, sorry. Just wanted to know what it felt like.” His hand lowered, curious fingers touching again. “These ridges are really cool, feel this—”

Castiel slapped Dean’s hand. “I _will_ handcuff you.”

Dean gaped, eyes drawn to Castiel’s. “You will?”

Castiel slowly lifted the cuffs from his belt.

Dean’s lips turned in an awkward smile, eyes trained on the handcuffs. “Mm. Kinky.”

“No, not kinky – I’m on duty, Dean, I don’t have time for your silly games. You’re not even supposed to be here. Back away from the wall or I’ll be forced to indict you.”

Dean, being the sort to poke sleeping bears with sticks, slowly returned his hand to the doorknob, defiant eyes on Castiel.

“That’s it—” Castiel swiped the cuffs towards Dean’s wrist, but the metal loop snapped on thin air. Dean had darted off, leaving behind a puff of his personal scent. Castiel wasted no time in going after him.

Dean chuckled the way he had done before – he clearly thought they were playing, flirting, maybe they’d press up against a door again and he’d have his second chance at a kiss. But Castiel meant business; he wore no smile, only a ferocious glare as he stalked across the room, chasing Dean’s rampant movements at a determined pace.

Dean escaped Castiel’s grip twice, yelping as he leapt out of the way, grinning the whole time. In a fast swipe, he snatched Castiel’s cap off his head, laughing as he spun back-to-back around him. Castiel started to pant, and had to pause to collect himself, one hand on his stomach.

Now Dean nudged up beside Castiel, eyes alive with excitement. “Can’t say much for your stamina, Cas,” Dean said, unreactive when Castiel finally snipped one wrist with a cuff. With his free hand, Dean placed Castiel’s cap on his own head. “Think I’m sexy now?”

Castiel sighed, jaw set. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t help but admit, “You’re always sexy to me.”

Dean seemed surprised. “Yeah?”

Castiel yanked Dean’s other hand closer, cuffing it too. He took Donna’s flashlight from Dean and held it beside his own. “Yeah.”

“But... I thought you were non-sexual. Asexual. You go around appreciating beauty in general, but you don’t find anyone _sexy_ -sexy. No?” When Castiel shook his head, Dean suddenly looked dismayed. “Wait, was I wrong this _whole_ time?”

“Semi-sexual,” Castiel reminded him. “Sometimes... with the right person... Specifically, someone I’ve loved for a long time...” He looked at Dean, considering how hopefully he looked back. Castiel smiled. “There’s definitely a spark of something.”

Without hesitation, Dean lifted his bound wrists up and over Castiel’s head, locking him into a hug. Dean smiled. “Hey there.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Dean, what are you doing?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder, never breaking eye contact with Castiel. He was too warm against Castiel, hips just a bit too close. Their thighs nudged together; Dean’s feet were rocking inch-by-inch, as if in a slow dance.

After several seconds of this, Dean’s flirtatious gaze seemed to soften, and rather than looking lustful, he began to look content. His feet stilled.

It went on...

...and on.

Castiel started to think Dean wanted nothing else but to look at him. Perhaps they both found solace in each other’s gaze.

Dean eventually lowered his chin, eyes falling to Castiel’s throat. “Cas?”

“Mm?”

“D- Do you ever think about kissing me?”

Castiel was stunned for a moment, but hastily recovered. “Yes.”

He was thrilled with his own honesty. His heartbeat soared, spirits lifting cool and fresh, like he was on the edge of an abyss, supported by an everlasting gale rising from the pits of the Earth. He’d never have imagined speaking one word could make him feel so elated.

Dean was so close that Castiel saw the minute buds on his tongue as he poked out the tip to separate his stuck lips. Now his lips shone; the whites of his eyes were not all that became golden in the glow of the flashlights.

Dean’s quiet words came out husky as he asked, “You think about kissing me on the lips? Like... slowly? With tongue?”

Castiel nodded, holding his gaze.

Dean’s lips twitched into a wanton smirk, but he schooled it away, looking down.

“Do you want to try it now?” Castiel offered.

Dean looked up, alarmed. His face flew through a myriad of expressions: confusion – no, Cas couldn’t really mean that – then curiosity, eyes dipping to Castiel’s lips – _what if...?_ Then desire, soft around the eyes, slack at the mouth. Please. _Please_. He did want it, Castiel could see how badly he wanted to try it.

Then fear, disgust, self-loathing, all at once – then shame. A lowered head, a small frown. Sadness.

At this point, Castiel pressed his hand against Dean’s back, sliding up to hold the nape of his neck, as he had done twice already, this same night. “What’s stopping you, Dean?” Castiel asked. “What _are_ you afraid of...?”

He turned his head, finding Dean’s eyes, lifting his gaze until they were upright again. Castiel felt his heart skip; joy, empathic awareness. But it clenched inside him as he saw more shame in Dean’s eyes. So much of it.

Dean shut his eyes. He didn’t want to be analysed like that.

Castiel refused to let him hide. Refused to let him go on living without knowing he was loved, and was wanted in exactly the same capacity as he loved and wanted.

So Castiel put a kiss upon his lips. One gentle hand cradled the side of Dean’s face, lifting to push away the gelled hair that tickled between them, tucking it under the cap Dean had borrowed. Castiel’s skin felt as if it was set aflame; his forehead creased, almost pained by the relief that drenched him. At last, some long-tired part of him was lain to rest, and he sighed out against Dean’s cheek.

He sank back, lips smacking with a click as they parted.

Dean’s face had grown dark on his cheeks, eyes ashine, lips plush and set just-open, struck dumb by Castiel’s show of affection.

“I do want you, Dean,” Castiel told him. “I wish you weren’t so afraid to ask.” With another soft kiss against Dean’s mouth, Castiel looked him in the eyes and asked, “Do you want me?”

Dean couldn’t ask, ‘ _In what way?_ ’ Either he didn’t have the courage, or, most likely, he didn’t need to know. He simply nodded.

Castiel kissed him again, and this time Dean kissed back. Cuffed hands took the crown of Castiel’s head, hair rumpled between his fingers; the chain of the cuffs swished cold on Castiel’s nape, making him shiver. Dean’s hips urged Castiel’s, knees touching, thighs pressing. Castiel mouthed into Dean, letting their lips drag, a soft sigh of longing flying free into their tiny void.

Castiel dropped both flashlights. They hit the floor, giving a firelight flicker and rolling a short way. But they swung out and stopped, close enough that the light illuminated the area subtly, no longer flickering, reflecting orange off the polished wood.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, excitement in his breath. “Mmm-!?” He pushed hard into Castiel’s mouth, nuzzling, smooching, mouth open to nudge at Castiel’s lips. He suddenly began to kiss faster, kisses trailing from Castiel’s mouth along his jaw, up to his ear.

Hot breath flooded Castiel’s ear canal, making him tingle. Dean kissed wetly at his earlobe, and then, in a trembling whisper, confessed, “I wanna be with you, Cas.” Dean pressed the side of his face to Castiel’s, holding him close. “Before the night ends. Just like this.”

“Just like what? With the uniform on?”

Dean growled, but the sound quickly became a needy whine. “I just— I wanna... I wanna do stuff with you. _To_ you.”

There was no subtlety in the movement his hips gave. Castiel felt how aroused Dean was with just one thrust against his thigh.

Castiel exhaled, hands winding around Dean’s waist, hugging him. He gave him a reassuring squeeze, nodding against Dean’s neck.

“Can I blow you?” Dean asked, fingers combing through Castiel’s hair.

Castiel smirked. “How long have you wanted to ask that?”

Dean pulled back, handcuffs clinking behind Castiel’s shirt collar. “Long enough,” Dean promised. He lifted his hands over Castiel’s head, taking hold of Castiel’s belt buckle instead. Without looking down, he began to undo the belt.

Castiel didn’t stop him. He enjoyed seeing that kind of desire in Dean’s eyes. Desperate. Aching.

Dean made sure to maintain eye contact as he lowered himself to his knees. He only looked down so he could unzip Castiel’s pants, fingers reaching inside to tug down just the front of Castiel’s boxers. Dean licked his lips as he revealed pubic hair. His eyes rose again, questioning. “Can I?”

Castiel nodded. His hand reached to take back Dean’s borrowed hat, so it wouldn’t fall. Castiel wore it proudly, happy to play the role Dean so urgently craved. Now Castiel set his hand into Dean’s hair, scrunching gel and soft locks alike as Dean bowed his head.

Curiously, Dean peered into Castiel’s underwear, watching his own thumb smuggle out Castiel’s mostly-flaccid penis, middle first. It emerged as a formless blob, popping back into shape once the tip was tugged free. Dean immediately looked up, searching for Castiel’s gaze, like he wanted permission again.

Castiel eased himself closer to Dean’s mouth, making the tip of his penis drag on Dean’s stubble. Castiel let out a quiet, “ _Ahh,_ ” feeling his lips tingle, surges of pleasure already coursing through his lower half. He felt immensely powerful, being allowed to do that. Softly, he encouraged, “Whenever you’re ready, Dean. Do what you like.”

Dean took Castiel’s penis in a loose fist, adjusting his fingers, learning the texture and shape of it. He looked at it, then kissed the side of it, eyes shut. He kissed again, closer to the base. And again, and again, kissing right up to Castiel’s hip bone. There he rested his nose, breathing hot air against Castiel’s skin.

Castiel stroked his head, thumb behind Dean’s ear as Dean turned his face, accepting the touch like a touch-starved street cat.

A small pause extended, eventually becoming an intermission.

A full minute passed. Castiel said nothing, recognising that perhaps Dean needed more affection than he could express aloud, or knew how to get. He knelt in a place of immense vulnerability, and for a while it wasn’t about the act of giving, just the act of accepting. Dean must’ve felt Castiel’s loving hand on his head and let sentiment overwhelm him.

Privately, Castiel appreciated the warmth of Dean’s hand around his cock. Even doing nothing, it was comforting to maintain that manner of intimacy.

It was only when Dean took a deep breath that Castiel let his hand trail from Dean’s hair, holding a shoulder instead.

Dean began to kiss again. Castiel’s erection had faded, but Dean brought it back stronger than ever, licking the base of it, nose in his pubic hair. Dean’s hand began to work the tip, with a firm grip and a steady rhythm. Soon he knelt back, kissing the head, and it left a shiny wet speck beside his lips.

Dean moaned as he set Castiel’s erection in his mouth. He shut his eyes in pleasure, chain-linked hands both gripping Castiel’s half-tucked shirt. Dean’s head tilted, and he poked his tongue out below his mouthful, so a sleek warmth pressed the ridge of Castiel’s frenulum. Castiel shivered, then let himself groan as he was swallowed down, hot and sweet, by Dean’s eager gulp.

“Mmm,” Dean hummed, starting to bob his head. “Mmm... mm.” His fists tightened on Castiel’s shirt, then he _yanked_ , pulling Castiel deeper. Dean made himself choke, but moaned through it, nodding his head, squirming up on his knees. Castiel could barely think past the sensation of being _taken_ , but he still sparkled at the idea that Dean was dampening his underwear with pre-come, aroused and unable – or unwilling – to do anything about it.

Dean sucked and sucked until he had to break away to breathe, gasping hard and wiping his face against his shoulder. Castiel heard and felt but didn’t see excess saliva drooling to the floor. Dean nosed in to kiss Castiel’s cock again, mouth wet, lips noticeably swollen.

“Cas?” Dean asked, voice cracking on the single syllable.

“Mm?” Castiel asked.

“C-Can you uncuff me? Kinda need my hands,” Dean grinned.

Castiel patted at his utility belt, locating the key for his handcuffs. Dean raised his wrists, awaiting freedom. As soon as the latches both clicked, and Castiel took back the cuffs, Dean lowered one hand to his own crotch, grabbing the bulge in his jeans and groaning. Castiel watched him rub himself, hips humping a little, small breaths hitching as the pressure eased.

But rather than undo his pants, Dean then returned his hands to Castiel, reaching around his waist to hold his ass, one cheek in each hand. With another moan of delight, he swallowed Castiel’s erection again, all the way down.

“Dean... Dean, oh... _G’uohh_ , yes...” Castiel tipped his head back, face relaxing with his pleasure. “ _Yes_.”

Castiel felt his cockhead stroking Dean’s soft palate every time he bobbed, and thrills descended Castiel’s spine, rhythmic flashes of sweat escaping him, growing hotter whenever Dean expressed his enjoyment with a shaky nasal noise.

Then, all of a sudden, Dean gulped, and pulled back, catching his breath. “I gotta—” he muttered, shaking his head. He dropped his hands from Castiel’s ass – but skimmed his thighs, his calves, ending at his heels.

Bewilderment bristled in Castiel’s body as Dean stroked his hands along Castiel’s black boots, fingers flaring out to greet the laces.

With one careful pull, Dean undid the laces on the right boot. Then the left boot. He then hugged the crook of one arm around Castiel’s right thigh, lifting him without warning, making Castiel flail and grab for Dean’s shoulder. Dean chuckled, setting Castiel’s foot down again, minus the boot. Then he removed Castiel’s left boot the same way.

“Cute socks,” Dean smiled, warm hands returning to Castiel’s right heel. He pulled down the sock with tender thumbs, and this time Castiel lifted his foot, letting Dean roll it from his sole, palm stroking as he went. Dean kissed Castiel’s knee, then moved to repeat the action on the other side.

Castiel curled his toes, feeling odd with bare feet on a scratched-up wooden floor. Dean eased him with another kiss, this time on the exposed part of his belly, where the two halves of his shirt parted below the buttons. Dean’s eyes flicked up, giving Castiel a reassuring smirk.

“Now these,” Dean said. He touched Castiel’s hips, and pulled at the material of the pants. The waistband began to slip, and Castiel felt cool air rushing against his inner thighs as the pants came down.

Dean exhaled, kissing Castiel’s bare thigh, eyelashes fluttering against his leg hair. Castiel rested both hands on Dean’s sturdy frame, using him for balance as Dean divested his ankles of the bunched-up pants.

With those discarded on the floor, Dean knelt up once again. He buried his face against Castiel’s half-lowered boxers, nose rub-rub-rubbing into the cotton, then rising, cheek squishing into the mound of flesh below Castiel’s navel. With a playful nip of his teeth, Dean took the band of the boxers in his mouth and pulled them down a short way, taking over with his fingers.

Castiel felt so very exposed. But, at the same time, it felt... nice. Comforting. Dean wanted him vulnerable, and to be made vulnerable felt empowering, purely because Castiel trusted Dean so deeply. He’d be taken care of, and would not be left uncomfortable or unsatisfied, he had no doubt.

Castiel dutifully stepped out of his boxers. Dean bent to kiss his knee; it tickled, and Castiel chuckled.

“Can we take this off?” Dean asked, kneeling up to tug on Castiel’s utility belt.

“I thought you liked the uniform,” Castiel inquired.

Dean’s lips parted, and he lifted an unsure shoulder. “Yeah. I- I do. But... it’s gonna get in the way.”

Castiel supposed that was true; it was the bulkiest and heaviest of the things he wore. He unclipped the belt, and removed his headphones from around his neck, letting Dean take the uneven weight and lay it all with a clunk upon the floor, on top of the discarded clothes.

Now Castiel only wore his blue button-down and the peaked cap. There were official emblems on both; he supposed there was enough of a uniform remaining to excite Dean.

“Hang on, Cas, gotta strip...” Dean quickly shed his own plaid shirt and tossed it away, leaving him in just a t-shirt and jeans.

But then he paused, looking at his crotch. “Think I should...?”

He answered his own question, making quick work of unzipping his jeans, thrusting down his underwear, and sticking his hand in to touch his erection. “Fuck,” he whispered, voice straining. His penis was so hard that he struggled to remove it from against his thigh, but when it finally obeyed his hand, it smacked up against his belly, wet all down one side, and pulsing faster than Dean’s heavy breaths. “Uhh,” Dean grunted, eyes shut. “God, it’s like it’s shouting at me.”

Dean fingered his erection gently, both he and Castiel watching how it reacted with great zeal, pounding against Dean’s front. It just wanted to be stroked – but Dean left it alone, more interested in Castiel. He shuffled forward on his knees, hands taking Castiel by the backs of his thighs.

“Spread your legs?” Dean requested. “Freddie Mercury power stance. C’mon, I wanna do somethin’. I think you’ll be into it.”

Castiel rocked each foot outward, making his lower half a triangle. Both hands held the back of Dean’s neck, tethering him but not guiding him. Dean had his own plans; he grinned, making a quiet, vocal noise of anticipation – then he sank down under Castiel’s parted legs, nose turned upward.

“What—?” Castiel tensed in surprise as he felt Dean’s tongue jab behind his balls. “What— Oh! _Oh_ —” He started to pant, alarmed, and still surprised. What a strange, hot, _shivery_ thing. Castiel shut his eyes and moaned, “Muhh— Gaauh... Deaaan....”

Dean kissed Castiel’s scrotum, then took one sac into his mouth, sucking it, soft-mouthed and smiling. He breathed deeply, small grunts escaping his nose as he adjusted his head, finding new, peculiar angles at which he could lavish Castiel’s taint with sensations.

As the floor was slidey and Dean was wearing jeans, he had little difficulty spinning around – so he did, and stuck his head between Castiel’s legs again, this time with his chin to Castiel’s scrotum and his nose in his taint. Castiel’s legs trembled, hands putting wrinkles into Dean’s t-shirt as he gripped the material, fists hovering inches over both shoulders.

Dean exhaled a breath into the dark groove between Castiel’s legs, and Castiel cried out, sinking down another few inches, eager for more.

Dean laughed, tickling Castiel’s ass with his gelled hair. He stuck his tongue out, and Castiel moaned out— “Ga-haaa... _aa-AAAaamnn_ nh... ouaa...hhh,” which was easily the most embarrassing noise he’d ever made in his life. He proceeded to make a similar noise, not caring. His third moan came out deeper, extending for longer. “ _Uouuuuuuuaaaaahhh_...”

Dean’s tongue was wet and warm and _soft_ , and it licked in funny patterns, in an area much too sensitive. Swipe, swipe—

Castiel let his eyes roll back in his head, and he bit down on his lip, groaning into his closed mouth. He began to bounce on Dean’s tongue, hips rocking, letting Dean steady him because God only knew Castiel couldn’t steady himself. He was quickly enfeebled, left trembling. Blind. Even the bloom of gold that the two flashlights gave out wasn’t enough. Castiel’s eyes were blurred by his pleasure.

“Fuck— Fuck,” Castiel whispered. “Yes. Lick me, Dean. Fuck yes.” He rushed with excitement just from speaking like that to his friend, knowing Dean enjoyed it. “Put your tongue on my ass, get me— Mmmh, get me wet.”

Dean did as he was told, ducking all the way under Castiel’s legs and out the other side. Now one of his hands held Castiel’s hip bone, while the other— “Oh, God,” Castiel grinned, reeling from the sensation of Dean pulling his ass cheek, exposing his hole. “Dean. _Deeean_!”

Dean sank his face between Castiel’s buttocks, mouth open, moaning aloud. He sealed his lips around the hole, tongue shameless as it tickled the wrinkles there.

Castiel took hold of his erection, masturbating as he gasped, helpless, sweating, feeling like the beast inside him was too easily riled up by a kiss, or a playful lick, or a nibble in a private place. Pre-come flung out over his hand, and he used it to work his hand faster, squeezing tighter.

His other hand swung behind him, wanting more. He felt around until he could grab Dean by the back of his head, and eased him closer, forcing his face deeper against him. Lost to his own pleasure, Castiel fucked himself against Dean’s tongue, crying out senseless noises that _echoed_ in the museum, coming back louder and more lustful than he realised he could sound.

“Please— Dean, hhmmnm,” Castiel crooned, vibrating on his weakened legs, trying hard not to collapse. Dean slurped and murmured and huffed against Castiel’s hole, and every soft “Ah, _ah_ , Dean,” which escaped Castiel’s lips only encouraged him. “D-Dean, please... I’m gonna... I can’t—”

Dean’s hands were strong but they couldn’t hold Castiel up completely. Castiel released Dean’s head, and Dean backed away for a moment to breathe, panting, finally catching up on every inhale he’d missed.

Castiel shivered. He managed to stay upright, but his legs had turned to jell-o, and he was weak all over, including in spirit. He just wanted to be ravaged again, pleasured by Dean’s mouth. He had no will to resist, nor did he think there was any reason to. This may have been his place of work, but he was sure nobody would ever find out about this. Nobody could see their shapes in the dark; they could only just see each other.

Though it was a struggle, Castiel turned around on clumsy legs, sliding Dean’s hair between his fingers again. “Can we—?” Castiel began, before pausing to gulp. “Need to f-find a place to sit.”

Dean kissed Castiel’s wrist. “Can’t handle the love, huh?”

Castiel huffed, unable to stop his smile from rising. “I could handle it better.”

Dean got to his feet, tugging on himself as he did. He looked around, and smirked, then tilted his head to Castiel, indicating the grand piano up on a raised platform. Performers would sit there sometimes, playing live music to museum-goers. Now it was abandoned, lonely beneath the window of stars, its rectangular stool tucked underneath the instrument.

Dean reached the piano first; his legs were only aching from kneeling, not trembling the way Castiel’s were. Despite his bare skin and his frailty, Castiel felt strangely confident; being sexually intimate with Dean, in a special, private place like this—? It felt strengthening.

Castiel also felt... sexy. He sat on the piano stool when Dean pulled it out for him, and he kissed Dean’s inner elbow affectionately. Holding Dean’s gaze, Castiel leaned both his elbows back on the closed piano lid, and he spread his thighs apart. He _wanted_ to be vulnerable. He _wanted_ to be bare. He wanted to lose the vague sense of authority he once had over Dean; he wanted to be played with, and taken apart, and loved to his weakest point by Dean’s perfectly imperfect words and touches.

Dean leaned down to kiss Castiel’s cheek. Castiel smelled the tang of saliva on him; it vanished as Dean returned to his knees, torso straight with his hands on Castiel’s thighs.

“Ready?” Dean asked, kissing Castiel’s throat. He undid a button for him, and kissed there, too.

Castiel nodded. “Mm-hm.”

Dean sank lower. Rather than filling his mouth with Castiel’s cock, he merely sucked on the tip, tongue scooping under the foreskin, drawing out a flood of pre-come. Castiel gripped Dean’s nape, grunting, resisting the urge to fuck into his mouth.

Drawing in a breath to recover, Dean glanced up, instructing, “Put your thighs over my shoulders.”

Castiel did. He spread his legs further, leaned back more, exposing himself to Dean’s face. Dean’s blush was tinted blue by what little pre-dawn light was in the sky outside, highlighted by an even fainter gold, reflected back off the window panes.

Dean’s greedy eyes roamed the sight before him; he peered in interest at Castiel’s straining buttons, the sweat on his collarbone under the parted collar. Eyes roamed lower, to the lifted hem of Castiel’s button-down, then the crinkles on his stomach where his body curled. The hair under his navel: Dean kissed it. The veiny underside of his cock: Dean kissed that too. The soft pudge of his testicles: Dean let his tongue lap at the shapes, batting them into a jiggle that made Castiel chuckle. Dean smiled, chin rising so he could meet Castiel’s eyes and share in his laughter.

Then Dean breathed out, hot, and bowed his head further. His tongue slid to Castiel’s perineum, and Castiel let his head bump the top of the piano, a groan of delight purling from the back of his throat. “Oh, Dean, right there,” he sighed, a lazy hand stretching through Dean’s hair, caressing him in praise for being the darling he was. “Right there.”

“Mm,” Dean murmured, kissing and nosing into the groove. “Hmm, you’re beautiful.” That single whisper was devastating, warm breath twisted against tingling skin.

Dean’s tongue ventured lower, and Castiel tensed, back arching, head back so far that his cap tumbled off onto the piano. His mouth fell wide open, silently howling in pleasure. Dean knew what to lick; he knew when to work up a frantic rhythm, when to slow down, probing the little wrinkles of Castiel’s anus with the firm tip of his tongue.

When Castiel felt the first breach, he spasmed in shock, head down to stare at Dean, awed.

Dean stared back up, looking altogether too smug. He sank his tongue in again, just the smallest amount. Wide-eyed and panting, Castiel let him do it again, and again, gripping Dean’s t-shirt tighter and tighter, until his knuckles were white, until his toes were curled so tense that they numbed, until all he wanted was to be fucked, for Dean’s tongue to go all the way in.

But Dean wouldn’t. He returned to flat-tongued licking, with the occasional wriggle that made the hair on the back of Castiel’s neck stand up.

“Neeeyh,” Castiel said, unable to speak. “Want... Deeeeaan...nnn...”

“What’s up?” Dean asked, lifting his mouth, wrapping his hands over Castiel’s thighs, giving him a reassuring rub.

“Fingers,” Castiel begged. “Pl... Please...”

Dean grinned, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s inner thigh. He offered two fingers, smirking, and lowered them, dry, to press teasingly at Castiel’s entrance. Castiel grunted, keening long and low, trying to squirm so Dean would press inside. The clearer part of his brain knew it would be crazy to try that here, now, with no real lubricant, no condom, and no way to clean up, but by God, logistical facts didn’t keep him from wanting. He humped against Dean’s pressing fingers, somehow enjoying the pressure.

Dean kept muttering things against Castiel’s thighs, dirty things, like, “Yeah. C’mon, pretend I’m fucking you. Right there, yeah? God, that’s hot. Gonna make you come all _over_ that shirt.” His fingers worked quick and fast against what fluid there was on Castiel’s hole; Castiel grunted, legs properly _juddering_ , hips moving in jerks to get more friction.

He stroked himself at a different pace, too distracted by Dean’s fingers to remember where his own hand was. He felt pre-come wetting his shirt, severe pressure at the base of his spine, too tight between his legs. He knew he was going to come soon, and he wanted it both _now_ and _not yet_ – he didn’t want this to end.

Whether or not the universe heard his plea was not a question he had time to ask; he received the answer first. _Not yet_ , the universe said. At the first sound of a nearby slamming door, Castiel sat up, feet flat to the carpet on the platform, all his attention on the next corridor along. A sweeping flashlight beam seemed to tickle at the edges of that hallway.

“Dean, someone’s coming,” Castiel whispered, getting up on his jelly-legs, battling Dean to his feet and shoving him off the dais. Castiel snatched up his fallen hat, shoving it back onto his head.

Dean stumbled, disoriented, but he soon saw what Castiel had seen, and ran back to the pile of Castiel’s clothes. Castiel almost fell on his way; the main part of the room was darker than by the window, and his legs were truly incompetent. Dean hefted Castiel’s clothes into his waiting arms, then slung the utility belt over his own shoulder like a soldier’s ammunition. Dean took both their steady-beamed flashlights, his face determined – then he looked at Castiel, unsure what to do.

“This way,” Castiel said, thinking fast. He hopped and staggered into a jog, heading away from the approaching light. Dean followed, his footsteps louder as he still wore boots.

Castiel led Dean back out of the room of doorknobs, going back the way they’d come. Heart pounding in his chest, he fled with Dean on his tail, leading the way down corridors, pausing at the turnings to imagine a faster route.

For one or two frantic minutes, Dean and Castiel simply made their escape.

And then...?

Castiel led them somewhere nice. Somewhere private. Somewhere he rarely spent much time – not because he didn’t have the key – but because some places, he believed, were too special to become everyday haunts. He never wanted the place to lose its charm, or to become familiar. He enjoyed entering that part of the museum and being impressed by how it had changed since he last looked in.

“Where are we going?” Dean asked, one warm hand on Castiel’s arm.

Castiel smiled, looking over his shoulder. He’d almost caught his breath. “Here.”

White Colonial arches made up the walls here; they were solid up to knee-height, and then glass overtook, opening up the sights to a splendid garden. Castiel could see the greenery through the dividers, separating by a few turns. He faced Dean, pawing at the utility belt to find his keys. He pulled off the ring, and went onward, soon coming to a glass door that was steamed up on the other side. With one simple turn of the key in the lock, the door swung open.

With the keyring back in place, Castiel took Dean’s hand and led him into the gardens.

As Castiel closed the door behind them, sealing them into this miniature Eden, Dean breathed out in justified awe, looking around at the plants and the flowers. They were all lit at the edges by pleasantly warm-toned floodlights, which came on in response to movement. More lit up as Dean and Castiel wandered the paths amongst the indoor rainforest.

This place was rich with tropical greens. Fantastic colours bloomed amongst the leaves, though some flowers were closed for the night. The humid air hugged Castiel’s bare legs, the tepid scent of earth soft inside his nostrils.

“I thought they locked this place up for good,” Dean said, one hand reaching out to caress a drooping branch, as if lifting the downturned chin of a child.

“It is locked, usually,” Castiel said, leading Dean down a cobblestone path. “I come in only once a week. The gardeners come in twice a day. There’s nothing to steal; if someone broke in here just to appreciate the ambience, I wouldn’t blame them.”

“I ain’t been in here since the winter frost hit and wrecked the climate,” Dean said. “Plants are recovering well, huh.”

“This summer’s due to be a warm one. I think we might re-open to the public within a month or two,” Castiel agreed. “It’s meant to be a secret from the staff; don’t tell Donna I told you.”

“Hey, I can keep a secret,” Dean grinned, nudging his chest against Castiel’s arm with an excited jump. “We gonna fuck here?”

Castiel chuckled, grin wide, chin tucked down to his sternum. “Do you want to?”

Dean swung around, bringing Castiel to a stop as they reached the fishpond, a stone pool with lilypads spread across the green surface. “Would the fish watch if we did? That’d be kinda weird.”

“I think they’re tending to their own fishy business,” Castiel said, admiring the mottled black, red, orange, and white koi that swam peacefully in their pond. “But me... I only have eyes for you,” he murmured, with a hint of sarcasm – which wasn’t sarcasm at all, in fact. “Come here, Dean.”

With a bold hand, Castiel took Dean by the small of his back, bringing him in close. All their discarded clothes and the belt fell to the ground.

This was still new, and Castiel was shy; he hesitated before he kissed Dean.

But he did kiss him. And Dean held his cheek as he did. Once they separated, Castiel’s belly felt warm and happy, and mirroring smiles spread over both their faces.

“How’d you wanna do this?” Dean asked. “Bein’ reasonable and all, I don’t think we can go all-out with the dicking escapade. And we can’t really kneel on these rocks. But, uh. I’d be happy to... y’know, make out or whatever. Jack each other off.”

“I – I know you’d prefer my uniform on,” Castiel blushed, “but... could _you_ be naked?”

Dean’s smirk was nothing but gleeful. He reached behind his head and lifted off his t-shirt. The garden was warm even at night; Dean would be comfortable with his skin bare. Castiel stepped in, taking over to undress Dean. He crouched, slowly, pulling down his jeans. They got stuck at the ankles, so Dean stepped back to kick off his boots without first unlacing them.

He then held out his feet – right, then left – and Castiel took his socks off for him, the way Dean had before. While Castiel crouched, he took the opportunity to lift Dean’s feet to his chin. He gave each of them a kiss, one tender press atop delicate, shifting bones.

When Castiel looked up, he saw Dean with his mouth slowly falling open, at a loss for words.

“I have no explanation,” Castiel said curtly. “I just did what felt right.”

“Hey, I’m not complainin’,” Dean said, hands up, smiling as Castiel stood up again. Dean reached to start unbuttoning Castiel’s shirt. “Surprised me, is all. It’s kinda cute. People don’t usually think about anything below the thighs when they’re doin’ it.”

“Dean?” Castiel looked carefully at each of Dean’s lowered eyes, focus switching between them. “Dean, you’re undoing my shirt.”

“Yeah?” Dean reached the bottom of the shirt, then ran his hands up Castiel’s chest, lips twitching in apparent delight at the swell of muscle under his palms. With a purr, he swept the shirt from Castiel’s shoulders, stroking down the back of Castiel’s biceps. “Mmm, you’re so _firm_. Look at that.” He inched in, kissing the crook of Castiel’s shoulder and neck. “Mmm. Mmmm-mm! _God_ , you smell good.”

Castiel hesitantly placed a hand on Dean’s elbow. “Is the hat enough for you?”

Dean was still pressing kisses against Castiel’s neck, maybe sucking a soft little hickey there. “Wuh?” he asked, nudging his mostly-erect cock against Castiel’s hip. “Mmm.” His hand slid through leftover sweat down Castiel’s back, following his spine, shaping around his buttocks. Dean caressed them, then slipped one finger between Castiel’s cheeks, stroking the sensitive hole.

Castiel’s breath stuttered. “I— I— Oh fuck—” He couldn’t think clearly past all the smooches Dean was giving him, they felt too good.

Dean nuzzled Castiel’s ear, resting his cheek there, kissing him a few times. As he lifted his head again, the security guard hat tumbled right off Castiel’s head, brushing his calf on the way down. Castiel shifted, trying to reach for it, but Dean was too tightly wrapped around him, smothering the side of his neck with affections, slowly humping against him, moaning Castiel’s name under his breath.

Castiel was very confused. “Dean...? The hat...?” His eyebrows drew together. “I – I thought the uniform was what...?”

Dean squeezed Castiel all around, mumbling dazedly, “Mmm, God, I love you, Cas.” He gave the stubbly part of Castiel’s neck another kiss, then asked, “Mmmh, wuh? What’cha talkin’ about?”

Castiel blinked a few times, eyes rising to the domes of the glass garden. “Oh,” he said, finally realising. “ _Oh_.”

Dean pulled back to look at him. “Wuh?”

Castiel smiled. “Nothing,” he said, kissing Dean’s lips innocently. “It’s nothing. We’re both completely naked, and I like it a lot. Just you... and me.” His hand caressed Dean’s heart, feeling it beat. “Nothing else.”

Although a vaguely understanding expression crossed Dean’s face, he seemed to take the comment at face value. “Yeah,” Dean smiled, green eyes lucid on Castiel’s. “Just you, me, and your watch.”

Castiel glanced at his wristwatch – then moved to remove it. He let it drop onto his other clothes. “Just you and me.”

Dean smiled bashfully, quietly asking, “Hey, uh... Are you... You still wet from before?”

Castiel shifted his thighs, feeling the slickness of saliva Dean had left between his legs. He nodded.

“‘Kay,” Dean said. His pupils were dilated; his cheeks turned pink once again, and when he licked his lips, he showed off how plump they were. “Turn around and back your ass up, alright? I’mma get in there.”

Excitation overtook Castiel like a spark setting a fire inside him; he turned, leaning into Dean’s embrace, head back on a strong shoulder, all the while floating in a state of immense rapture. Dean held Castiel’s belly, rubbing it down, kissing his neck. His hand went lower, lower, tangling into Castiel’s pubic hair, drawing a quiet “Aaaahhaa,” from his slightly-open mouth.

Shifting in place, Dean aligned his hips and stomach against Castiel’s spine, one hand working to insert his erection between Castiel’s buttocks. Castiel set his legs a short way apart, his entire soul _curling_ with pleasure as Dean slid underneath him, fitting into the gap between the tops of his thighs.

It was a stiff and spasmodic experience at first: although Dean’s saliva remained there, working as lubricant, it was not especially slick. Castiel’s body was rocked by Dean’s hips, held steady by his hands.

After a pause, Dean pulled out by a couple of inches. Castiel wondered what he was doing... until he felt Dean’s forehead resting between his shoulder blades—

Dean spat between Castiel’s buttocks, and the warm and bubbly globule trickled from his coccyx downward. Castiel exhaled shakily, feeling the air tremble upon his tongue. Dean’s spittle made it to his erection, and with a thumb, he pushed his cock back under Castiel. It _slid_.

Dean’s toothy grin touched Castiel’s shoulder, groaning, “ _Augh_...! Shit. Shit, _yes_.” Physical reactions to Dean’s outcries went tumbling around inside Castiel’s body, warm inside his ribs, echoing against his heart.

Castiel made his own noises, though they were strangled, and intermittent. He clutched at Dean’s wrist, watching and feeling his freckled hand pull Castiel’s cock, bunching the foreskin in a tight wrinkle at the peak of every tug. Castiel’s other hand reached back behind him, fingers spread, denting the skin on Dean’s outer hip. He liked the softness there, the slight give of his body, how it differed to Castiel’s own.

Feet sturdy on the ground, their bodies locked together, pushing and swaying forward and back in tandem. They held tight, listening to each other’s breathing, little purrs and grunts and whimpers passed like secrets between them.

Time became irrelevant. How could this be measured in minutes? Castiel counted thrusts in collections of one: he counted, and then forgot. Each one was enough to make him mindless, in love with his newest experience. Each thrust became the tiniest bit more intimate; Castiel’s hand held Dean tighter, Dean kissed his neck for longer, thrusting even when there was nothing left to slick their way. Castiel moaned, happy to appreciate even the bumping of Dean’s cock against the back of his scrotum.

Dean started to mutter, his words interspersed with pleasured sounds. “Cas, I’m gonna. Shmm. ‘M so close. Right here. Fuck. Fuck. C’mon. Mmmm. God. Yes. Ye-hess.”

“Dean,” Castiel muttered, trying to see through his lust-blurry eyes. “Dean, you’ll make a mess...”

“I know— I know, I— Shit, Cas, I’m gonna. Mmm. Mmm.” He speckled Castiel’s neck with kisses, tender and wet and pretty. “Let me— Let me?”

Castiel shook his head, then nodded, not sure what Dean wanted.

“Can’t,” Dean uttered. “Oh my God. Oh my _God_ , Cas. Cas. _CAS_. Oah—”

Castiel gasped aloud as he felt the _spurt_ of heat hit him, fluid spilling down his thighs immediately. Dean hugged so tightly, whining against Castiel’s back, cheek against him. “Cas,” he whimpered. “Oh...”

Castiel looked down, watching Dean’s hand go slack on him, then fall away. Dean had to pull himself from between Castiel’s legs, and Castiel heard him squeezing out the last of his orgasm. Castiel turned to see Dean, pink all over, gleaming with sweat and glowing with satisfaction. He gazed at Castiel, half-guilty, half-smug. Castiel slid two fingers between his own legs, touching the sticky mess Dean had left there.

Wicked sparks rose in Dean’s eyes, and he began to smirk. “Lemme get that for you,” he murmured, still breathless. Slowly, he dropped into a squat, taking Castiel behind the knees, bringing him a step closer. Castiel had some idea of what Dean had in mind, but he didn’t expect to shout out, “ _Oh_ —” thunderstruck by the sensation of Dean licking his legs.

Dean chuckled, perfectly as ease as he worked his way from Castiel’s knees upward, hungry tongue cleaning away the trailing drops of come he’d spilled.

Speechless, and again trembling, Castiel set a hand in Dean’s hair, eyes half-closed in fevered ecstasy as Dean reached the top, shoving Castiel’s legs apart, licking between them to get the last smudges.

Castiel was still whimpering when Dean pulled back and stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “All clean,” Dean said, brightly, looking completely wrecked. Fatigue was shading his undereyes, but that was nothing compared to the look of all-round ruination that sex had given him. His hair was a rumpled mess, he had smudged semen and saliva drying on his face, and the way he held himself was too languid, too self-righteous. He very much had a ‘just fucked’ look about him. Castiel loved it.

In fact, Castiel loved it so much he began to touch himself, feeling no shame in enjoying Dean’s post-orgasmic state. He made no attempt to hide how his attention roamed Dean’s body, from his sagging erection to his flushed chest, the colour in his cheeks, and most especially, the happiness in his eyes.

Dean’s lips parted in surprise, then turned upward in a smile. “Fucked-up is a good look on me, huh.”

“The best,” Castiel agreed, pushing into Dean’s space and using his hip to rub against. “Ugh.”

Dean turned his head, angling himself so he could kiss below Castiel’s ear, sucking gently. Small words of praise escaped on a shy breath, “You’re so gorgeous, Cas.”

Castiel bowed his head, body singing the transcendent high notes of a church choir, riding on a high after hearing those words. He let Dean’s clumsy hand take over his own, and instead Castiel held Dean’s hips, returning his pretty kisses, encouragements slurred against his neck.

“Mmmm...” Castiel smiled as his thoughts blurred into incoherence. “Love hhhow you... that, thsss your touches, mmnn. Good. So good.”

“You like that?”

Castiel just nodded, dizzy. “Hmmmm. Deaaan.”

Just as it had, not too long ago, Castiel’s pleasure began to spike, drawing lightning bolts from the base of his spine, tension like a clenched fist between his legs. He vibrated, shivering on Dean, barely able to watch Dean’s hand. The fast shake-shake-shake of Dean’s fingers and thumb over Castiel’s cockhead perfectly matched what Castiel needed, as unlikely as that ought to be. Either Dean had had a lot of practise, or he was truly a natural at this.

“Dean— Dean. Dean!” Castiel turned Dean’s skin milky-white where he pressed his fingertips, where he sank his teeth. “Arhghhmmmmdeaaaan... Deannn.... Mhhhh—” Castiel stopped vocalising, this was taking too long. He just wanted to come—

Dean gave him a quick kiss, and without any warning, dropped back into a crouch. Castiel was left without anything to lean on, and almost fell over Dean, slapping both hands to his bare back. He felt Dean’s breath raising his ribcage, saw the spindly shift of his spinal column as he moved...

Castiel lost sight of his world, tumbling for a moment. He sprayed out, pleasure rushing in a hot sting through his system. And he felt a mouth...

When Castiel caught his breath, inhaling more deeply, head down, eyes slowly opening again, he found himself above Dean, who remained squatted, a filthy yet pleased look on his face. Dean held Castiel’s gaze, and swallowed. Eyes lowering again, Dean tugged out a final shivering droplet from Castiel’s half-faded erection, and wiped it on his own lips before licking it into his mouth. He kissed Castiel’s hipbone, then climbed to his feet, pushing up off his stiff knees.

Castiel stared into Dean’s eyes, still too blissed to speak. “Hm,” he managed.

Dean just laughed to himself, licking his lips in embarrassment. Already he’d sunk back into Castiel’s embrace, like they’d magnetised, like it was normal to be hip-to-hip, softening erections squashing between them. Dean turned his head and kissed Castiel, parting his lips just enough to let Castiel taste what he’d swallowed, not enough to force him to share all of it.

Only then did Dean back away, taking a deep breath. “Heh,” he said, rustling his hair with a stretched arm, flashing his armpit fluff. “That was kind of awesome, huh.”

“Kind of, yes,” Castiel agreed, thinking it was an understatement. He chased Dean that single step between them, taking him close to hug him again. They squeezed tight, Castiel relaxing, Dean swaying.

Castiel kissed Dean’s shoulder, shutting his eyes to savour this moment of peace.

“We gotta cuddle sometime,” Dean said, patting Castiel’s back. “Maybe you bring that uniform of yours ‘round to my place, yeah?” He ducked back, biting his lower lip. “Theatre night. I’ll, uh, make sure Sam and Eileen are outta the way. You know how it is. Brother and his fiancée barging in on you ‘n a special friend havin’ some private time.” He gave Castiel’s hand another squish. “Rather have you all to myself, y’know?”

“Right,” Castiel said, nodding carefully.

“Ah... Anyway.” Dean cleared his throat. “So. We should probably... Um.” He looked around at the mess of clothes, then bent to pick up Castiel’s collared shirt. He draped it around Castiel’s shoulders, admired it for a moment, then looked down, lips parted.

For a while, it seemed as though Dean had something else to say, but the moment passed when he shook his head. “Let’s go get cleaned up,” he suggested. “I’mma forfeit our bet. I need a freaking nap, and right now, I’m pretty sure promising you breakfast would be the easiest way to achieve that.”

Although bothered by what felt like an unresolved conversation, Castiel was nonetheless happy to accept the promise of food. His night shift was probably almost over – he checked his watch, confirming – and not only did he greatly anticipate breakfast, but he very much looked forward to gloating about this bet in the weeks to come.

In a sluggish, sleepy silence, Dean and Castiel dressed themselves. Castiel started to yawn, and he wished he had the option of buying someone breakfast if it meant he could sleep. Alas, he still had another two hours of work to do.

“Have you seen my left sock?” Castiel asked, through another yawn. Now dressed, but still barefoot, he sat on the wall of the fishpond, watching Dean.

“Uh?” Dean sniffed, tugging on his laces, poised with his boot up on the same wall. “Sock? No. Maybe you put them on the wrong feet.”

Castiel shot Dean a frustrated glare. “Socks are all universally neutral socks, Dean. They’re not designated as a right sock or a left sock.”

“So how do you know which one you’re missin’?”

“Because I only have one sock,” Castiel said, holding up said sock. “I always put my right sock on first. By default, the missing sock is a left sock.”

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “It’s like four in the morning, I ain’t chatting sock theory with the one asshat who relates his gender to his socks.”

“I didn’t say anything about my gender.”

“I heard it anyway. Look, maybe you dropped it on the way here. It’ll just end up in Lost Property. Ask Alicia about it in a couple days, you know how much she cares about getting people’s random crap back to them.” He approached Castiel, hand out to cup the back of his neck. “Dude, cheer up, a’right? Your universally genderless sock is gonna see its buddy again real soon.”

Castiel frowned, unhappily pulling on his one sock. His other foot felt naked as he slipped both into his boots.

“Ready?” Dean asked, offering a hand to Castiel. Castiel took it, and let Dean heave him to his feet. With a subtle smile, Dean gave Castiel’s cheek a kiss. “Let’s go.”

-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . ♥ . -..- -.-. .. - .. -. --.

Even at four a.m., there was only so much self-purification that could be done in a disabled-stall bathroom sink, at least not without leaving a big wet patch for some poor janitor to mop up, or without dampening some (or all) items of clothing presently worn. Dean settled for scrubbing his face a few times with the soap that came out of the dispenser in the form of foam (a decent solution), then rinsing his mouth out with the same stuff (a Mistake).

He also attempted to wash his dick in the sink, but he quickly had to admit that he lacked both the penile length and the gymnastic ability to make that dream a reality. He settled for splashing himself with a hand.

He exited the bathroom looking very much like he’d pissed himself in the rain. He shot Castiel a glare, but soon resigned himself to being the recipient of that insufferably amused smirk.

Okay. It was _kind of_ funny. (But only kind of.)

-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . ♥ ...- .- .-.. .. .- -. -

Dean set Donna’s borrowed flashlight firmly on the marble top of the museum’s front desk. “Guess what?” he grinned. “All this thing needed was a good ol’ slam onto the floor, from a height of about, ooh, let’s say three feet? Works fine now.”

Donna peered at him blankly. “I liked how it flickered.”

Dean’s face fell. “Oh.”

Donna’s eyes moved to Castiel, who stood yawning beside Dean, but promptly ceased when he sensed Donna’s glare. “And you,” Donna said, sounding hurt and offended. “ _You_ should’ve known better.”

“I should’ve?”

Donna’s fine brown eyebrows rose towards her blonde hairline. “Damn right you should’ve.” Still looking serious, she lifted a hand from under the desk, revealing a telephone with a curly cable attached. She waggled it. “Got the big boss lady on the phone here, I do. We’ve been having a long chat about the pair of yous.”

Dean’s eyes darted to Castiel, panicked. Castiel was sensible enough not to break, keeping his poker face.

“Did we do something wrong?” Castiel asked calmly.

Donna’s eyebrows lowered as she squinted in annoyance. “Oh, as if you don’t know. I was born at night, Cas, not _last_ night.”

She pursed her lips and raised her other hand, revealing—

A sock. A left sock, to be precise.

Dean’s eyes went to Castiel again. This time Castiel did break; he lowered his chin, eyes down. He gulped.

“Found this in the room full’a doorknobs, I’ll have you know,” Donna stated. “Mr. Three-three-oh-one here didn’t answer my radio calls for a good half-hour, I figured he’d gone and switched his damn radio off by mistake. But then I see my own personal flashlight, blinking like crazy on the security camera screen. So what do I do? I go lookin’ for you, expecting trouble, only to hear a couple’a pairs of feet thundering out as I come in. And this!” She tossed the sock onto an open guest book with an air of distaste.

“Jeez, you two. I know I look gullible, but I know full-well this ain’t the calling card of some funky burglar – I’d recognise your socks anywhere, Cas. Where’d you even _get_ socks with guinea pigs on them, ha? Under what circumstance exactly did you think it was reasonable to leave your socks lying around a gosh-dang _museum_? Who told you two you could to do the _do_ on duty?” She smirked. “Hm! Say that five times fast. Point is! You boys’ve got a whole heap-load of explaining to do, don’t’cha know. I’ve got you on eight different camera angles, Cas, waddling around the place, buck-naked.”

“It—” Dean turned back to Donna and her telephone, going into the friend-defending mode he’d cultivated to perfection since childhood. “It was me! It wasn’t Cas, don’t blame him!”

“Really, Dean?” Donna said flatly, clearly not about to take any bullshit. “At least you kept your jeans on.”

Dean forged ahead, insisting, “It was all my idea, I was the one who asked to tag along tonight, I just— You gotta believe me, all right, I was goin’ outta my god-damn _mind_ looking at him wearing that—”

He lowered his guilty eyes, sucking on his bottom lip, breathing hard. “No, it wasn’t even the stupid uniform. Look, I just wanted to spend time with my friend. That’s all.” He swallowed, both ashamed and proud at once.

He lifted his chin, giving Donna his most heartfelt puppy-eyes, trying to mimic what Sam did to garner sympathy. “Cas is... one of my best friends. Maybe—” Dean huffed, facing away, then shrugging. “Maybe we’ve been more than that for a while. But honest-to-God, it wasn’t meant to happen like this, not tonight. It just... did. It was an accident.”

One more time, Dean’s eyes turned to Castiel. “Cas, I _swear_ , I never had _any_ intention of actually makin’ a move on you. Not romantically, and definitely not any other way. C’mon – I _knew_ if I did, it would happen like this, we’d jeopardise both our careers – which would throw a spanner in everything, both personal and professional. We’re both happy workin’ here. There was no point screwing that over just ‘cause Little Dean wants you real bad. Or even ‘cause my friggin’ heartstrings start unravelling or whatever, every goddamn time you _smirk_ at me with your stupid smirky smirkface.”

Teeth gritted, Dean shook his head, turning to face Donna but not looking at her. “Look, if someone’s gonna lose their job over this, let it be me. Leave Cas out of it.”

There was so much more Dean could add. Having been part of a twosome scolded by adults many times, he knew there was a bit coming where someone would say ‘ _You may have led Castiel on, but he was the one who gave in to your peer pressure,_ ’ or some bullshit that would undoubtedly leave Castiel looking like the worst of the two of them.

Castiel inhaled. Quietly, he spoke – but not to Donna. “We’re consenting adults, Dean. The decisions we made were as much mine as they were yours. We’re equally responsible for our wayward conduct.”

Well, so much for throwing himself under the bus. Cas had to go and dive under there too. At least they’d get cartoon-steamrollered together.

At first, Dean waited for a follow-up argument, from Castiel, or from Donna – hell, he expected to hear the telephone jibbering with the big boss’ voice, fuming at the other end of the phone. He continued to wait, but said nothing, thinking he’d be shown a teacher’s cane and physically reprimanded for speaking out of turn.

With her eyes stuck on Dean, Donna slowly lifted the telephone to her ear. “Hey. You get all’a that?”

There was a bit of jibbering. But it didn’t sound especially angry.

Donna began to smirk into the phone. “Sure thing, girlie. I’ll take your free breakfast after I’ve taken Dean’s here. Poor boy looks like he’s about to drop, his bet’s as good as lost.”

Dean was offended, but wasn’t quite sure why.

Donna squinched her nose as she smiled. “All righty. See you. Bye, Alicia. Sweet dreams.” She hung up the phone, and there came a ringing silence.

“Uh,” Dean said. “Alicia?”

“Oh, what, you think I’d call the real boss over this?” Donna grinned. “Darn _that_ to heck. You won me three plates of waffles and an IHOP gift card. I was just squeezin’ a confession outta you, sweet-cheeks.”

Dean stood with his mouth open.

“You expectin’ me to shove a donut down your gullet? Too bad, I ate them all.” Donna snatched up her repaired torch, switching it on and pointing it across the atrium, where its light was swallowed up by the blue gloom of dawn. “Well how’s about that, you did fix it.” She picked up another flashlight from her desk. “Turns out we have a bunch of ‘em that work fine, but heh! Can’t say I’m mad atcha. I’m not ever loaning this thing out again, that’s for sure. I need a disinfectant wipe.” She aimed the beam at Dean’s heart, then at Castiel’s. “Well? Don’t you have a breakfast or two to go fetch?”

Dean and Castiel exchanged a look of quiet astonishment.

“Actually,” Castiel said, placing a hand on the desk, taking his left guinea pig sock. “I think Dean would really appreciate a place to sleep. I have another round of the museum to make. As unbelievable as it might sound now... I do truly value this job, Donna, and I’m grateful you’re not threatening to have us let go. We were both incredibly unprofessional. _Unforgivably_ unprofessional, in fact.”

Out of the corner of his mouth, Dean uttered, “Don’t push it, dude.”

Donna smiled. “You honestly think I’d get you two muffinheads fired? Pff! Like _that_ was in anyone’s best interests. Dean makes the best pie this side of the planet – and oh jeez, come to think of it, I figure the planet might fall _apart_ if you two get separated. God oughta smite anyone who tries to come between the two of yous.”

A wobbly smile smeared itself across Dean’s face. His fond eyes turned from Donna to Castiel, and his heart felt sort of... glowy, seeing Cas looking back.

Castiel gulped. He smiled too. His hand shifted across, and his fingers linked with Dean’s.

Dean squeezed his fingers. Though their hands physically separated a moment later, Dean was convinced that, symbolically, they were never letting go.

-.-- --- ..- .-- .. .-.. .-.. ♥ ... ..- -.-. -.-. . . -..

Dean slept under Donna’s desk for about two hours. He had a vague suspicion that she’d lowered her phone under there and taken some creep shots of him sleeping on the carpet with his mouth open, but to be perfectly candid, he didn’t give a flying fuck. He got _two hours of sleep_ , and he didn’t think he’d been so grateful for a rest since he was neck-deep in recipes at cooking school.

He awoke with a snuffle and a bolt of alarm – he sat upright, bumping his head on the bottom of the desk. He lay back down for a bit, waiting until the circling stars and tweeting birds vanished.

With a yawn, Dean scrunched himself out of his hidey-hole, clambering to his feet using a filing cabinet and an archive box as rungs. He ached all over – especially on the knees. He bent down to rub them, feeling sore skin and bumped joints through his jeans.

Dean looked around, first spying the crisp, clear light of early morning through the museum’s front windows. Tree saplings shimmered in a cheery breeze, and further out, a street-sweeping machine trundled past, making its way home as the morning rush hour picked up. It had to be just before six.

Propped up on the desk, a note had been left for Dean to discover: _Shift’s over, went home. Morning, sunshine. – Donna_ ♡

Dean smiled to himself, feeling genuine, core-deep appreciation for his co-worker and friend.

He exited the front desk, wondering for a moment why nobody was here, before he realised _Cas_ was meant to be here. Dean vacated the atrium, headed into the men’s room for a minute or two, then emerged and made his way to the fountain at the centre of the museum.

All routes led to the fountain. Whenever Cas headed back on his way out, he’d pass by here eventually.

The fountain was running now. Rippling and trickling, the water made a succulent tune, and the slightly-chlorinated water mixed with the just-watered soil in the planters made the air smell pleasantly dewy. With morning light hazing white through the domed ceiling, the place became a kind of sanctuary, nothing there but light and water and plants. And Dean.

Dean stood with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, staring into the fountain. His eyes felt morning-heavy, his stomach empty. But through the blurs in his head, he finally registered what he was looking at.

The fountain’s base was scattered with coins. People would sit at the edge, make a wish, and toss a nickel or a dime over their shoulder. God only knew if their wishes came true; it was an old tradition that happened world-over. People were hopeful, symbolic creatures.

Dean rooted around in his pocket, quietly satisfied when he did find a nickel beside a gum wrapper. He pulled it out, looking down at Thomas Jefferson stamped on the face of it. Dean ran his thumb over the coin, only now wondering what to wish for.

He thought about Sam, and about Eileen. Max and Alicia, and their mother Tasha. Donna. Benny. Bobby and Karen. Co-workers, friends, family and extended family. All the guardians he’d had throughout his life.

Dean wished them well. He wished them good things. Happiness, and longevity – crap like that.

He drew his hand down, swung it sharply upward, and let the coin leap in an arc from his hand to the water. It went down with a _ploop!_

Through the quivering blue surface, Dean watched the coin settle among a few others, nudging them out of the way.

He took a deep breath, then sighed, sticking his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.

There was another coin there. Feeling the urge overtake him, Dean pulled out the second coin. It was the rusted one-cent-piece Cas had found on the floor of the museum’s art gallery. Dean smirked, knowing immediately what to wish for.

This time he turned backwards, shutting his eyes. He grasped the coin hard in his fist, blew on it, then tossed it over his shoulder. He spun on his heels just in time to see the coin hit the fountain centerpiece, bounce off, flip a few times in the air, flashing with daylight until – _ploop!_ – it dove into the water, smashing other coins out of the way as it landed.

So, there lay Dean’s wish. Proud and bold in its own little space in the wishing fountain.

Dean turned his head as he heard someone approaching. He smiled: Castiel came right up to him to touch his shoulder.

“What did you wish for?” Castiel asked, hand grazing Dean’s back as he pulled away.

Dean faced him, feeling a bubble of satisfaction and apprehension rising up inside him. He gulped, bowing his head to his chest. Keeping his head down, breathing in, he raised a horizontal finger, pointing at Castiel.

“Me?” Castiel sounded amused. “Don’t you already have me?”

Dean shrugged, meeting his eyes. “Can’t hurt, can it? Wishin’ to keep you.”

Castiel smiled serenely, pure blue eyes turning to gaze into the water. He seemed to be able to tell which coin was Dean’s, as he looked directly at it. It stood out among the others.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean said, hands in his front pockets again. “Listen. Uh.” He cleared his throat. “Would you – maybe, um... wanna go get something to eat? With me?”

Castiel nodded. “I believe you do owe me breakfast.”

Dean rolled a shoulder, mouth open. “I actually meant... like, a date. Or, you know, whatever. If you want.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, eyebrows rising. He peered at Dean thoughtfully. “I’d like that, Dean. Yes.”

Dean’s smirk pulled one side of his face taut, and he was soon grinning widely. “Awesome.”

Castiel reached to fish Dean’s fingers out of his pocket, and they swung their joined hands as Castiel led them away from the fountain, all his attention on Dean.

Dean was flushing with warmth, head to toe. “So. Bacon and eggs? Pancakes with a butter lump on top, side of maple syrup? You up for that?”

“The place across the road makes especially good pancakes,” Castiel nodded. “Is a diner a good place for a first date?”

“Cas, please,” Dean scoffed. “You’re dating Dean Winchester. A diner is a good place for anything.” He nudged up against Castiel’s side as they walked, giving him a seductive, playful look. “And I do mean _any_ thing.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, turning his face away. “You are utterly despicable, Dean.”

“Oh, right, like _you’re_ a total angel,” Dean muttered. “Bet you a second date you’d willingly have a quickie with me in a diner bathroom.”

Castiel sneered, squinting at Dean.

“You would,” Dean promised, giving Castiel’s hand a good squeeze. “Third date, maybe. You want me bad enough, you’d compromise any sense of decency you have. Case in point, what we did tonight.” Solemnly, Dean reminded him, “We almost cost us both our jobs, Cas.”

“Donna was joking about firing us.”

“But she might well have been serious.” With a concerned shake of his head, Dean added, “We did right by the two of us, don’t get me wrong. The action was great. But, wrong place, wrong time. I held off asking you out for so _long_ , Cas. We both knew there was a proper bond between us – somethin’ real profound, y’know? And yet...”

Dean shrugged, eyes wandering the marble halls as they made their way back to the atrium. “All this time I was convinced staying professional friends was way more important than any chance we had of _being_ with each other. Romantic, sexual, whatever. But, Cas, what if this—” Dean gestured between them, back and forth, “—oughta be the priority? What if we buckled tonight and gave in because there’s too much between us to smother, you know?”

“What are you saying, exactly?” Castiel asked, in a tone of worried suspicion.

“I’m saying...” Dean pressed his lips together, breath caught. Then he exhaled, mind made up. “Joke or no joke, Donna was probably right. Sam and Eileen were right. I love working here, I do, but I can’t keep myself in check any more. I want you too bad, and it’s gonna mess with our work. And I want _other_ things too. I want more than comfort. I have a good job, friends around me. Yeah, it’s amazing. But God, Cas, I want more. I... I deserve more.”

Dean was physically trembling, from fatigue, hunger, and the force of emotional unburdening. He hid it well.

When Castiel spoke, he spoke gently, understandingly. “You want to leave your job.”

“I don’t want to,” Dean corrected. “I... I think I _have_ to. Not out of obligation, or guilt, or anything bad. Just... There’s an urge inside me that wasn’t there before. This new thing with you, it’s just remindin’ me how I keep myself stuck, resisting change because of... whatever reason. Usually an arbitrary reason.” He raised his eyebrows, finding the word he was looking for, the real way to describe his reasoning: “An excuse.”

More eagerly now, Dean continued, “I want to move on with my life. Move up. Leave the comfort zone.” He swallowed, and nodded to himself. “I’m gonna enter my cherry pie into that competition Sam ‘n Eileen mentioned. Who knows. Maybe nothing will come of it, and this whole speech ends up forgotten. Maybe there’s a chance I could work two jobs the way you and Benny do, baking in the museum in the day, baking with Karen on the side. But I get jack-squat unless I take a first step.”

Castiel had been quiet and thoughtful as he listened, but now he raised his head, giving a small nod.

“You okay with that?” Dean asked, giving Castiel’s hand a tug.

Castiel seemed mystified. “You think I would discourage you? You know what you want. You’re right, you do deserve more recognition than you could ever get here, working behind the scenes. Getting a foot in the door with Karen’s business sounds like a good place to start.” Castiel’s smile rose sideways as he remarked, “I think you’ve proved tonight you could handle two intensive shifts back-to-back, even if you do need a timeout for a nap at some point.”

Castiel noticed Dean’s marveling expression, and his smile widened. “I’ll support you through anything, Dean. That shouldn’t be a surprise.”

“I’m not surprised,” Dean said, lying until the moment he said it, when it ceased to be a lie. “I’m grateful.”

After a moment, Dean added, “Same for you, by the way, Cas. You wanna start folding more t-shirts in your spare time, get yourself on the up-and-up, I’m on board. I’ll clear a space on my bedroom desk for you.”

Castiel chuckled. “Tell you what: clear the space anyway. Not for t-shirts, but...” Castiel tipped his head towards the museum’s gift shop, which was now visible as they entered the atrium. “There’s a miniature ‘67 Chevy Impala in there which I think would look right at home on that desk of yours.”

“What?” Incredulous for a moment, Dean asked, “Why, though?”

Castiel smiled. “To remind you of things you love. Your car, and the past it represents, growing up with your brother. And... also...”

He paused for too long.

“To remind me of... you,” Dean finished, before Castiel had mustered up the courage. “Heh.”

Dean shook his head, already beginning to smile. Then he grinned – and then laughed, throwing an arm over Castiel’s shoulders and dragging him close so Dean could kiss his cheek, bumping his headphones as he did. Dean tried to speak, but didn’t really have anything to say. So he kissed Castiel again, then dropped back, scooped up his hand, and led him towards the museum’s front with a happy smile on his face.

Castiel went with him, smiling even more.

**{ the end }**

**Author's Note:**

> *~throws a coin in the fountain~* I wish forrrrr... kudos!
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this fic! Please let me know your thoughts in the comments! I find your feedback unspeakably encouraging. 
> 
> (If you downloaded this, come back and say hi! Either here, or on [tumblr](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/). I can't always reply, but I read every single message.)
> 
>  
> 
> If you want somethin' similar to read, I have a bunch of fics [right here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works). May I suggest:   
>  ♥ [Try-Something Tuesday](http://archiveofourown.org/works/757965), featuring teachers having sex in weird places   
>  ♥ [Held in Your Tender Hands](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5301230) for some good ol' snarky gender-bending masseuse!Cas and somnophilia   
>  ♥ [#ThankYouSammy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3349259): a non-AU where Sam sets up a Valentine's Day date in the bunker   
>  ♥ [Or my entire "Professionals Being Unprofessional" AO3 tag](http://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=professionals+being+unprofessional&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=0&commit=Sort+and+Filter&user_id=almaasi) featuring just that.
> 
>  
> 
> *~throws another coin in the fountain just for you~*  
> Elmie ♥


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